


Shadows in the Dark

by Seabirdsong



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, But also redemption, Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love Again, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Huddling For Warmth, Lots of Angst, Love Triangles, Mutual Pining, Mutual comforting, Not a retelling of awakenings, Romance, Search for Family, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, past major character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 112,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7863619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seabirdsong/pseuds/Seabirdsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solona Amell has a deathwish. It's seven months after the death of the Archdemon and the Hero of Ferelden longs to join her beloved Alistair at the Maker’s side. The fact that the darkspawn continue to swarm the land surrounding the Warden's new base means plenty of opportunity to make that a reality. While an old crush from the circle provides a powerful temptation, it's the broody archer who just might change give her a real reason to go on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A note: After I was well into this fic it was brought to my attention that another fic already exists that is based on the exact same premise and sharing many of the same ideas. Please know that this similarity was an honest coincidence and be sure to give some love to the author who did it first: <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7017424/chapters/15975211">Cousland is Alive, by Turbo Nerd.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

Solona’s eyes shot open as the familiar sensation of approaching darkspawn tickled the edges of her awareness. The bone pale moon through her dingy window colored the ceiling above a silvery cerulean blue. Her head throbbed, her mouth was parched, but it wasn’t the darkspawn that set her jaw tight with pain. It was the large flask of cheap Brandy she’d emptied only a few hours earlier, while perched alone upon the roof of one of the Vigil’s Keep watchtowers. She couldn’t say that was a particularly Commander-like thing to be doing on such a regular basis, but nevertheless it seemed to provide some kind of solace, even if only the feeling that she was closer in some intangible way to her beloved.

Distantly she recalled that one pair of dark eyes had actually seemed to catch sight of her up there. Normally everyone just made their circles in the courtyard, oblivious to her presence above them while they flitted from conversation to conversation like a horde of social butterflies. But she supposed if there was anyone in the Keep who knew all the best places to get some peace and quiet, it would be the man who’d grown up there. It wasn’t lost on her that if Nathaniel still desired that revenge that so many others continued to caution her about, he’d merely need to sneak up behind her on almost any night and give her a little push. Over the edge and down five stories she’d fall, and no one would be the wiser as to why. Nathaniel already had that infuriatingly silent way of all archers she’d known, so such a feat could be accomplished easily provided she had enough liquor in her system to override her Warden sense. Not that she’d try to stop him even when she did sense his approach.

He hadn’t done anything like that though. He’d stayed visible for a while, his face shadowed in its usual dour frown until the hour grew too late to justify standing around out there with little to do.

She’d spent the rest of the evening hyperaware of any sounds at her rear. She didn’t bother to turn around, however, not wanting to interrupt the plans of any stealthy avenger. She welcomed the attack. _Hoped,_ even, as much as she was loathe to admit it out loud. That someone might finally do what she couldn’t quite seem to do herself, what the Archdemon should have done, would have been a relief.

It was an error she suffered for every day since she lost him. She and Alistair were supposed to have died _together,_ the way they’d promised each other after rejecting Morrigan’s offer. Solona was supposed to be with Alistair right now, this very moment and every moment of the past seven months, and on into their eternal afterlife. She shouldn’t still be _here_ , alone, walking around, going through the motions as though she was anything more than an empty, dejected husk.

Solona sat up in her bed, the silence of the room punctuated by the throbbing of her blood trying to navigate through alcohol-constricted veins. She felt the darkspawn clearly, as certain of their numbers as she was of anything. They were close and getting closer, creeping through deep passages somewhere below the room she slept. The bloody bastards still crawled through in small waves, but never seemed to bring along the full battalion that had greeted her upon her arrival at Vigil’s Keep. And they’d never woken her from a drunken sleep before.

She was out of bed, ignoring the robes draped haphazardly over the cabinet doors but instinctively grabbing her ironbark staff. The silvery ball at the end pulsed with power as it connected to her magic, shining a flash of a purplish light through the room. She paused a second to consider shoes, and then continued mindlessly toward the door without grabbing them. One who is hoping to meet their end has little need for protection, she figured dimly, even of the most minor variety. She wondered for the hundredth time as she let herself out of her bedroom door why she even bothered to fight. If she _really_ wanted to die, she could simply stand before the darkspawn and let them come.

But it was never that simple, was it? First of all their smell was literally repulsive. Her body rejected it on a cellular level, their stench of death and decay mixed with something deeply treacherous that seemed to cause her limbs to lash out of their own accord. Secondly, there must have been something inherent with her Grey Wardenness that wouldn’t let her stand idle as they approached. Her job had been to kill these creatures for a year and a half now, and at times, despite the smell, she even enjoyed it. Tapping into some inner current of hatred and bitterness worked wonders on the force of her magic, magnifying her power into something terrifying. She’d begun combining her spells in newer, more grotesque ways in order to administer deaths that grew increasingly spectacular in their destruction. It was as close as she’d gotten to anything resembling _fun_ in a very long time.

And then there was the knowledge that to allow herself to be killed in such a way would mean the probable deaths of others, innocents who would later find themselves in the path of whatever darkspawn she failed to destroy. And she’d never uncover the mystery of the talkers. That wasn’t an option. It would, in fact, be a dereliction of duty.

No, she’d have to fight them, wagering that eventually she might meet one, or a horde, who would finally be her match despite her best efforts.

 

She’d only lived in the Keep for a month, but the path from her quarters to the closest exit was an easy walk, done quickly with eyes still blurred from a brief, poor sleep and the remnants of drunkenness still fogging up her thoughts. Down a hall, around a corner, across a large main room and around another corner before reaching a side door to the courtyard. It wasn’t typical for her to walk these halls wearing only a thin slip of a nightgown, but there wouldn’t be many souls awake to see it.

Only two bodies stirred in the courtyard, guards who marched quietly along the perimeter and were speechless as they passed her, likely disbelieving their eyes. Or perhaps thinking that she was just sleepwalking.

She rounded the main building and entered the door across the yard to the Howe basement. Without pausing to adjust to the utter darkness, she padded quietly down the pathway. She channeled power into her staff and slowly the dark rooms and halls revealed themselves in her staffhead’s glow. This building always retained an unnatural chill, which she supposed was about right for a structure built over the entrance to the innards of the earth.

These darkspawn might never actually find nor attempt to breach the door, but still Solona knew it was only a matter of time before this fortress was overrun again from the inhabitants of the depths below it. Perhaps this was merely a wayward band who’d gotten separated from their horde, or, for all she knew, they might be a scouting troop checking the entrance in advance of a new invasion. Many times in the past month an awareness of the shadowy figures wandering in the deep had tugged at her mind, but tonight they were sharp and distinct, indicating that they were especially close to the surface. She counted eight separate bodies, consisting of just simple brutes and genlocks, none of them ranked terribly high in power or ability. She sighed as she wound her way down closer to the entrance, knowing that eight on one wasn’t exactly a cakewalk, but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t handled before.

Still, she wondered if perhaps tonight might finally be the night it all came to an end after all.

She breezed through another doorway to find the purple glow of her staff cut by a dull bleed of outside light. To the left, down a short descending hallway, an orange slit glowed around a partially opened door. Someone must have left some braziers lit in one of the lower rooms, though most of those in the neglected parts of the keep were antiques, only capable of burning for a few hours before needing another application of kerosene. Solona paused for a moment and listened, hearing nothing behind the door to indicate anyone was active in there. The hour had to have been exceedingly late, though she had no way of knowing what time it actually was.

She shrugged and continued on. Those braziers would burn themselves out eventually.

 

The opening to the Deep Roads was a gash of extra-dark black that seemed to breathe a dank, frigid air through her satin gown. With each step, the freezing rocks beneath bit painfully at the soles of her feet, but she relegated the discomfort to the back of her mind. It was a pain she’d chose, and it certainly wasn’t the first over the last seven months. She entered the passage fully and the hair all over her body stood on end, both for the growing chill and the knowledge of what lay before her. One never really got used to the appearance of darkspawn, no matter how many times one faced them down.

 

But their familiar, fetid smell had another effect on Solona now, one which she counted on to deaden her anxiety and drive her forward into battle. It was a reminder of what had been taken from her, conjuring up a memory of when that smell had been considerably stronger. It had been the backdrop to those long, eternal moments that she’d sat beside the Archdemon’s cooling corpse, while the last of Alistair’s life bled out of him before her very eyes. That scent was unbearably thick then, like an oily blanket of death that smothered the air and wound tightly around her throat, removing the prospect of beginning her cherished eternity by Alistair’s side. It was a blanket of death that had never lifted.

 

That scent was all she needed really. Was there anything more potent than a scent for resurrecting an emotion or experience with blazing clarity? She’d never experienced anything else her life which had reliably set fire to her blood in the same way as the stench of darkspawn since Alistair had gone. It clouded her vision in a red, homicidal haze and sent adrenaline raging through her veins. She caught the first breath of it in the rocky passages before her, confirming that the darkspawn were indeed unusually close to the entrance, and felt the adrenaline begin to rush into her blood. She increased her speed to a charge, letting the pulsing rage take the reins of her body and propel her deeper down the pathway. The rocky corridors flew past, the bone-chilling cold now hardly an afterthought. Her Warden sense honed in on them like a beacon, and her staff was fully charged and ready to fire before she even heard the first snarls echoing from around a shelf of rock.

The first push of her magic brought the blackness alive with a shock of purple and white, throwing the eight ambling bodies back onto the rocky ground below and giving space for a swing of her staff that would whip a wall of ice in their direction.

Without pausing they rose again, but quickly the ice slammed into them, locking them into column of glassy shards. Capitalizing on the second of stillness, Solona fell quickly into a deadly rhythm, sending forth undulating waves of power, the light around them flaring and then dimming as her lightning sought its target. The moisture in the ice magnified the electricity, cooking their flesh around their bones and emitting a cloud of smoke that stung her eyes. Two of the genlocks fell relatively quickly, leaving six to break free of their icy shackles and continue snarling toward her.

Another blast of ice to stun, and then a fist of rock to pummel the stilled figures, breaking limbs into unnatural angles with a satisfying crunch. The blackness behind them breathed a gust of rank air, which intensified in noxiousness as it blew over broken up darkspawn bodies, feeding into her rage like a direct line. She let loose a barrage of raw, jagged power, this time aiming for the shins of those left standing, at least as much as she could see to do so in the flickering stafflight. A vulnerable, straight-forward bone that made itself an easy target, she’d always honed in on their enemy’s shinbones as a matter of instinct, immobilizing hordes to make them easier for Alistair to cut down with his sword.

Seven months since their last battle together and she still hadn’t overcome the habit of fighting as though he was by her side, of watching out for him and keeping a constant tracker on his silver suit of armor, compensating how and where she threw her spells, so that Alistair could weave between them, slicing his way through the darkspawn like scythe. The two of them together had executed thousands of darkspawn with a brutal efficiency, magnified further by Leliana’s arrows and blows from Sten’s massive warhammer.

But the battles were so very different now.

It was almost easier to fight alone sometimes, easier to just let all the habits and tactics she’d learned with Alistair fall away completely, rather than have to be modified, adapted to new personalities that served only to remind her every single second that _they weren’t him._ The knowledge always hit like a punch to the gut, as effective a blow as any the darkspawn themselves could level.

Solona took a breath and tuned herself back into the adrenaline, reaching deep into her mana for an increased blast of force. When the magic hit their shinbones, those who were standing crumpled to their knees, roaring with frustration as they struggled to remain upright, their hooked swords and spears flailing and swiping ineffectually at the air. In a moment of pause Solona saw that an easy victory was imminent, and began pulling together a storm of lightning that would swirl above them and steal what was left of their lives slowly. If the fight had to end so disappointingly soon, she figured she would at least put some artistry into the final kill, building the power around them until it exploded every intact cell that remained on their bones, leaving them little more than a liquified pool of decay.

She stacked stream of power into stream of power, doubling and tripling its strength and intensity, letting the creatures growl and writhe helplessly before her while she took her time. She relished the knowledge that these hellions would suffer, and quietly rededicated herself wiping out as many of them as she was able to before she couldn’t any longer.

At least when she finally joined Alistair in the afterlife, she’d do so knowing that their separation had been fully and soundly avenged.

Solona felt her lip curl at the thought, though it wasn’t much of a real smile. There was a certain satisfaction in being an agent of death, to cleanse the land of this vile disease, using methods as vicious and ruthless as the darkspawn’s own. The joy was a perverse one, but it was undeniable, and quickly had a palpable effect. The energies she conjured grew in intensity to the point that her smile twisted into something dark, while her hands began to tremble wih the force of her own power. She had to clamp her teeth to stop their chattering.

 

Without warning or provocation, one of the darkspawn flew backward, landing with an audible force that denoted an impact. A second followed shortly after, their bodies instantly replaced by a gap of black space. Solona snarled at the sight. She should have left more life left within them, so that her final storm wouldn’t be wasted on only two. A flare of light illuminated the cave, and in the time it took to expose the scene it seemed yet another was gone. Solona steadied the stream of light and blinked through the effort of controlling her power, but by then only a single darkspawn was visible above the pile, its broken teeth gnashing as it tried to raise itself up on shattered bones.

Confusion infected Solona’s focus. She hadn’t done anything herself to finish off those three, not yet anyhow. As she wondered, she felt the energies she held growing unwieldy, spinning loose of her grip and beginning to bleed errant bolts of electricity out of her staff. She hissed as she tried to rein it all back in. Without careful application, she could inadvertently bring the cave walls down upon her very head. She took another breath of putrid air and struggled to refocus, slowly recapturing the electrical storm. The close call left the air tingling, charged with an ionic tang of lightning.

Footsteps sounded off behind her, quiet and cautious. Solona turned to face whoever was approaching, her hands and staff still outstretched before her and thrumming with a massive current of unreleased power.

Nathaniel dropped his bow to his hip and quickly pulled his gaze up from her thin nightgown. He went still as he met Solona’s eyes. Whatever he saw there drained the blood from his face.

“Oh,” he gasped, more a hitch of his breath than an actual word. He bowed his head deferentially and took a step back.

Solona growled in frustration, realizing that now she’d have to change her tactic. A single darkspawn wasn’t worth the masterful storm she’d crafted anyhow, though the energy she’d put into the spell still needed to be released. She closed her eyes and spun the magical current back through her tether to the Fade, changing its power from electric to one of a cleansing fire. It took some time to work her way through it all, and each moment seemed to require more and more effort to hold it all together. She could feel herself depleting, but mustered up the last reserves of her strength in order to finish.

At least she’d sleep well when this was over and she made her way back up into her bed.

With one hand pushing outward and the other directing her staff, she let her beautiful storm complete its transformation, ripping forth not in a wave of electricity, but in a blast of orange and blue flames. The sound of the inferno was deafening, roaring like a gale force wind as it sucked up the air in the passage and consumed the life of the last living darkspawn. She held the blast steady until she could see the flames reducing the pile of bodies first to a pool of bubbling black oil, and then to a black stain of ash on the pathway. With the last of the flames went the last of her mana. Overkill to be sure, but her grand finale would have been satisfying nonetheless, had she actually been able to see it through unaltered.

 

When it was over, the acrid plume of resulting smoke hit her in the face, searing her eyes and throat with a fire of its own. She took a gulp of fetid air and turned to outrun the smoke, pushing Nathaniel back toward the entrance to the Vigil’s Keep basement. They moved quickly out of range, though the adrenaline that had driven her deep into the passage was waning fast, leaving an empty exhaustion in its place. By the time they reached the door, coughing and holding their breath, she once again felt the cold penetrating deep under her skin. Her bare feet had gone fully numb, and with the fire in her blood extinguished, her body was beginning to shiver. Waves of tremors worked their way through her, her body desperately trying to work some warmth back into its cells.

 

Nathaniel cleared his throat quietly from behind. Solona ignored him, letting her staff light guide her through the crevice in the basement wall and toward the maze of dusty basement rooms. But she could feel his eyes still on her, that icy blue stare of his, often as cold and penetrating as a winter wind. She glanced over quickly, confirming that she was being watched. Nathaniel’s expression was grim and disapproving, his pointed stare brimming with questions.

She continued to walk. The rooms in the Howe basement held onto to a slight odor of death, the result of the numerous victims left to litter the place when the estate had been overrun by darkspawn a month earlier. It had taken a few days to locate and clear all the bodies out, and in that time the smell had set in.

Gooseflesh rose over her body as she shivered, and she was reminded of what a sight she must have been. Her hair still tousled from sleep, shoeless and clad in only a thin, sleeveless gown. Surely Nathaniel could hear her teeth chattering. She glanced at him again, annoyed to find that steely gaze still locked upon her expectantly. At least he didn’t appear to be trying to get an eyeful of the goods, despite how easy that had to be.

If she didn’t deal with this now, she figured he’d probably want to talk about it the next day. That was not a conversation she would want to have. Solona stopped mid-stride and turned to face him. He came to a halt without a hitch, his lips downturned, pale skin flickering with the dull purple light.

“What?” she demanded impatiently. “Ask your questions.”

Nathaniel was silent. His eyes fell down to her feet, taking in her bare skin with concern. She knew what he had to be thinking, how supremely stupid it was for anyone to enter the deep roads wearing so little. Even without the possibility of facing down a group of darkspawn, lack of any armor or protection down there was reckless. The frigid temperature alone was dangerous. He, on the other hand, had on a long coat and had apparently had time to throw on boots. Actually, the longer Solona looked at him the more clear it was that he hadn’t even been to bed yet. Beneath his coat were portions of his leather armor, his knee-high boots fully and carefully laced. The coat was not one that he normally wore, but it was far colder down here than it was in the courtyard. Storms had been rolling through regularly, bringing with them the early winds of Ferelden winter, but there was still another month or two before they had to worry at all about snow. Down here, however, their breath puffed out in large white clouds, made all the more noticeable as her stafflight refracted the moisture against the darkness behind them.

She wondered if perhaps it’d been him in that room with braziers lit. Then again he had likely sensed the darkspawn too, and was prepared for where he was going.

Solona shifted on her feet, feeling her irritation grow into something more fierce, but unleashing any more vitriol would require energy she no longer had. He still hadn’t spoken, just continued to study her quietly, taking her in as she fumed before him. And what answers could she give him anyway, for making such a foolish decision to set out on her own as she had? Why did anyone think she owed anyone else answers anyway? No one here could understand what it was like, how utterly shattered her world had become since that fateful day seven months ago. Everyone else celebrated that day; it was a day that the Blight should have ended, that the venerable Grey Wardens had given the land its life back. But to her those celebrations had felt like a slap to the face. Worse than a slap, a hammer. A complete obliteration of everything she had been living for.

And it hadn’t gotten much easier. And now, yes, a part of her — a very large part — wanted to fail in battle. Counted on it, in fact. It would happen, and until then there was no point in trying to explain to anyone else. And it didn’t really matter what anyone thought about it, if they thought she was mad or just reckless, or whether they even _liked_ her, as long as they all stayed committed to the cause of putting down the darkspawn.

To that end, Nathaniel had seemed to make a decent Grey Warden. She respected him for his obvious skills, but she still owed him nothing.

She studied him in return, seeking in his eyes the questions he wasn’t asking. His brow had softened and that blue gaze had the look of a tumultuous ocean that had suddenly stilled, revealing profound and complicated depths. It seemed that somehow he already knew the answers.

The silence grew heavy. Solona felt silly for all her shivering. It suddenly seemed like she was fully exposed.

She turned and continued up the pathway to the next level. She’d given him his chance to ask, to address whatever concerns he had and he’d stayed silent. So that was it. She shrugged it off and marched forward. The darkspawn had been handled and now she wanted only to go collapse back in bed, to pull the covers around her chilled skin and try not to dream until the sun came up, where she could go through the motions for yet another Maker-foresaken day.

 

Step after step she navigated along the corridors, through spacious rooms that housed enormous shadows and creepy paintings. Nathaniel’s steps were nearly inaudible behind her, but even in those moments that he’d go completely silent, she’d still have felt him there, the same as she’d felt the darkspawn. The same as he felt her and they all felt each other and he’d known about her fighting in the deep roads in the first place. The others must have been sleeping too deeply, but if they were awake, they’d have felt it too.

It failed to be terribly comforting, feeling the locations of the fellow Wardens. They were nearly indecipherable from how a particularly powerful darkspawn felt, and one always had to be careful to look in the heat of battle in order to prevent striking a fellow Warden accidentally. And when there was no possibility of darkspawn, that awareness felt very much like the taint that it was: a black spot in the mind’s field of vision. That field had limits of course, and on the edges of it everything got blurry. She could tell the general vicinity of Oghren and Anders as she continued her ascent, but couldn’t tell what they were doing or if they were even moving. Nathaniel behind her was the sharpest, remaining only seven or eight steps at her rear and off to the left, though for some reason his pace was quickening, slowly closing the distance between them.

Solona wondered idly if maybe he was actually going to go for it. Maybe he had seen what she longed for, had decoded the plea for mercy within her foolishness and had decided to give it to her. For a brief moment she felt elation, a new lightness that had her close her eyes for the next few breaths, honing in on the man behind her as each hurried step brought him closer and closer. The way he looked at her made it seem as though he could have known. Hadn’t he said something similar once? After she’d released him from his own home’s prison, he’d said that he’d expected to die. That he maybe even _wanted_ to. Perhaps he knew what it was like. Perhaps he didn’t have to voice those questions, ones she wouldn’t have known how to answer anyway.

It didn’t seem truly possible, it seemed more like wishful thinking, and certainly it was. But she was sure to keep facing straight ahead, wanting to make it easy for him. She imagined his dagger in his hand, his blue eyes clouded with renewed resolve to complete the goal that had brought him back to his home in the first place. _To get revenge on the woman who’d murdered his father._ But his revenge was her salvation.

She was holding her breath in the moment he should have been on top of her, the skin of her back tingling in anticipation. But instead of a blade piercing her skin, something heavy and warm fell over her shoulders. She froze in place, confused, her heartbeat blaring in her ears. It took several tense breaths to realize that it was simply Nathaniel’s coat. He continued on walking, passing her up with a cautious sideways glance and then was gone, disappeared into the shadows ahead.

It wasn’t enough to stifle her shivering. Though she was trying not to care about the intense discomfort, she found herself pulling the heavy leather tight around her body as she made her way out of the basement door and into the moonlight. 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona has some complicated feelings for Anders.

_“Someone_ looks like he is plotting your murder,” Anders quipped to Solona in his sing-song voice. She knew to whom he was referring, though she had no desire to look over at him. It was apparently lost on Anders that Nathaniel often looked at everyone like that.

Nathaniel snorted, his mouth too full of food to form a proper response.

Solona focused her attention fully onto her breakfast of honeyed cakes, stewed apples and leftover pork, trying to ignore the fact that her cheeks were burning with awareness of Nathaniel’s eyes. She’d noticed how often he seemed to just sit and observe her, but this time there was no question what he was wondering about. Solona shook it off, forcing the memory of her half-naked excursion into the Deep Roads out of her mind, and took a large bite of savory stewmeat.

Bits of the previous night’s dinners had begun making their way into breakfast ever since the Wardens had all agreed to stop raiding the larders in the middle of the night, on the condition that Lya had an extra large breakfast ready for them bright and early each morning. What she was providing before wasn’t cutting it, and Lya was tired of cleaning up their messes, and finding important items half consumed before she could even use them in the day’s cooking.

None of the Wardens cared what food was put before them anyway, as long as there was a lot of it. So far, the arrangement had worked fine.

When Solona did finally glance up at Nathaniel, his eyes flicked quickly away. She sighed in irritation. It would be better for both of them if they just forgot the events of the previous night, and clearly he hadn’t.

“You’re awfully chipper this morning, mage,” Nathaniel finally responded.

Oghren lumbered into the dining room and dropped onto the bench with a grumble. He picked up a chicken leg and began to gnaw on it without a word of greeting. Trying to engage him in conversation first thing in the morning rarely resulted in coherent dialogue, so no one bothered.

“That’s right I am. If you had the night I had, you would be too,” Anders sighed happily. “Maker, _the legs_ on that woman…” He popped a chunk of apple into his mouth and groaned.

Solona had heard exactly what kind of night he’d had on her way back to her own quarters. She’d taken the long way around after reentering the main building, and for reasons even she didn’t know, paused outside Anders’ door. The crush she had on him during her girlhood should have been irrelevant now. He’d been two years ahead of her when they were both in the circle, and he’d hardly known she was alive. Just because she was his superior now, and just because his silly jokes occasionally reminded her of Alistair, didn’t mean she was in any place whatsoever to be serious with another man. She didn’t _want_ another man, not even remotely.

Besides, _serious_ didn’t seem to be in Anders’ vocabulary.

And then there was the little fact that he still barely seemed to see her. When she’d come upon him blasting flames at a group of Templars, he’d looked right past her and immediately hit on Mhairi. He knew Solona’s face from the circle, but he didn’t know her name. Or anything else at all, really.

Still, something had stopped her there in the hallway. And surely he’d known she was there, just as she could feel him inside. Laughter echoed through the thick wood of his door, sounding low and intimate. It seemed he hadn’t changed much since leaving the circle. He continued to flirt incessantly, and work his way through the Keep’s most attractive men and women, at times leaving broken hearts in his wake. People outside the circle didn’t do things the same as mages inside did, she’d learned that from Alistair. People outside got attached. They fell in love and stayed with each other. They didn’t shield their hearts and live for quick, shallow dalliances between Templar shifts, too afraid to form anything lasting. Either Anders hadn’t figured that out yet, or he simply didn’t care.

Yet despite the fact that word about Anders’ fickle tendencies had begun to get around the Keep, it didn’t seem to stop anyone from wanting to warm his bed. He remained as charismatic as Solona remembered, and had only gotten more attractive since he’d let his hair grow long.

“I suppose that’s why you were oblivious to our darkspawn visitors last night?” Nathaniel asked flatly. Solona shot him a warning look, wishing she could freeze him into paralysis with the force of her eyes. Nathaniel only stared down into his plate, picking a chunk of meat off a bone and inhaling it unceremoniously.

“Darkspawn? Oh is that what that was?” Anders asked, sounding mostly unconcerned. He had a blush of purple under his eyes despite their giddy brightness, betraying his long night of exertion. “Well it was over so quickly I didn’t think it could be anything serious. I wouldn’t even have had time to join you.”

Solona kept her face expressionless, exuding a mask of indifference. There was no reason Anders’ personal affairs should bother her. Nothing he had to say mattered anyway.

“Right,” Nathaniel snorted and shook his head. “Maker forbid the next darkspawn horde arrives while Anders has his pants around his ankles. We’d all be left to our own defenses.”

“Oh yeeees, because you’re all so very defenseless,” Anders teased. “Besides, legs that fine are worth it.” His smirk was full of such smug pride that Solona had to look away. Something sour fluttered in her gut.

“Incidentally, I don’t wear pants. Especially not to bed.”

Nathaniel sighed audibly. Solona scraped the last of the gravy off her plate with a hunk of bread and shoved it into her mouth.

“Anders, you are our only healer,” Nathaniel reminded him, his voice stern and reprimanding.

This was probably the point that Solona should have stepped in, should have put on the Warden-Commander hat and chided Anders for making light of a very serious duty. Instead she decided to keep eating. Food at least might staunch the discomfort in her stomach, part of which could genuinely have just been hunger. She popped the last bit of food from her plate into her mouth and surveyed the table for what was left while she chewed. Now that Oghren had arrived and joined the party, there was little remaining in the multitudes of bowls and plates scattered around the table. Solona picked up a tray that still had some carrots and potatoes on it and scraped the rest of them onto her plate. She reached across the table to a bowl on the furthest end and then dropped it back down once she saw that it was empty. She looked to Oghren’s plate, which was filled to the brim with apples and meat, but he growled at her as she eyed it.

Sitting back down, Solona sighed with disappointment.

Anders swallowed his mouthful and stabbed his fork at a hunk of cheese, and then looked over at Nathaniel with a crooked smile.

“Well, you’ve all got potions and whatnot, right? Besides what the incentive for me? As far as I’m concerned, there is no better way to go out of this world than balls deep in a beautiful woman. I would wish that for you, Nathaniel. We should all be so lucky to perish within the throes of one of life’s greatest pleasures.”

Nathaniel grimaced. “First of all, that is a rather rude thing to say in front of a lady. Did they not teach you any _manners_ in the circle?”

Anders chuckled, “A lady? Oh, is there a lady present?” He nudged Solona’s elbow good-naturedly.

Solona didn’t look up.

“Secondly,” Nathaniel continued. “You would do such a thing at the expense of your friends? Ignore your duty, your _obligation_ as a fellow--”

“Did you hear that everyone? Nathaniel says we’re _friends._ I’m honored, Howe, truly. Maybe we should get matching bracelets or something, let all of Thedas see the evidence of our bond, what do you think?”

Nathaniel snapped his mouth shut and looked away sharply. The table went silent again.

On most mornings Solona didn’t mind Anders’ chatter. It was usually more good-natured ribbing than it was malicious teasing. Alistair had also been an obnoxiously chipper morning person, and tended to jibber his way through breakfast, even when the rest of the party was clearly tired and not in the mood. It had annoyed her once upon a time. Now, that sort of thing mostly just reminded her of home.

This morning however, she was not amused.

“Oh look!” Anders laughed as he leered down the table toward a scowling Nathaniel, “now he’s plotting _my_ murder.”

“Well…” Nathaniel began slowly, “you’re not wrong.”

Solona finished off the last of her potatoes while she stared pointedly at Anders. Every word out of his mouth seemed to be crawling under her skin. It didn’t help that he looked altogether too pleased with himself over last night’s exploits. He finally met her eyes while he reached for a whole link of sausage lying untouched on his plate. Solona stabbed it hard with her fork, her tongs scraping against the porcelain as she stole the sausage link out from under him.

“He’s not the only one,” she said. Baring her teeth, she ripped the sausage in half and began to chew.

“Ouch,” Anders laughed.

She rose from the table and made her way out of the dining room, glad that at least Nathaniel had exercised some discretion, even if Anders seemed to be incapable of doing so.

 

Irritation prickled up her spine. It was one of those mornings where everything was an annoyance. She hadn’t wanted to wake up in the first place, much less see Nathaniel’s coat draped over her chair, reminding her uncomfortably of the night before. She hadn’t wanted to force herself to look presentable and nod an awkward good morning to Nathaniel as she sat down at the table. She hadn’t wanted to hear Anders talk about being _balls deep_ in bloody anything. As she walked her mind swarmed with dozens of things she probably should have said to both of them. Nathaniel certainly had a point about Anders ignoring a battle, and she couldn’t disagree with his chastisement. Still, she hadn’t particularly wanted Anders down there last night anyway. The presence of a healer jeopardized her ultimate goal.

And, there was that sick flutter again as well, something that continued to happen in response to Anders. It was so tiresome, how he could make her feel so small without even trying. It was like she’d been transformed back into a teenage girl, watching the object of her infatuation from across the room, too afraid to approach or speak up to make a move. This even after the last year and a half, in which she’d united and led an army of many races, stopped a Blight and been crowned the most celebrated and revered Grey Warden in the land.

Part of her wanted to punch Anders square in the face. And another part of her… wished that she wasn’t so amused by some of his stupid jokes, or that she didn’t find herself eying the cut of his jaw. Or stop outside his door in the middle of the night.

Times like this she squeezed her eyes shut and reminded herself just how much lesser of a man he was than the one she truly loved. The one who had shown her what love was, who had been devoted to her, utterly and unabashedly. The one she would be with again, some day.

 

It was always a disappointment, opening her eyes again and coming back into this new lonely reality.

 

Solona stalked across the courtyard, not really sure where she was even going. Garavel nodded at her from beside Wade’s table. Dworkin was tinkering with something in the far corner  by the main gate. The place had grown so empty since she’d told Garavel to send as many soldiers as he needed out to protect the farmlands. She knew it’d be time to leave again soon, though she hadn’t made up her mind yet what was the more important task to tackle first. They could venture out to Blackmarsh and see if that might be where they’d find Kristoff. They could make their way back to Amaranthine and maybe convince another vendor to take up shop at the Keep. Or, they could go see what all that business was about in the Wending Wood.

Amaranthine would probably be the more practical choice, but it would also require more ego-stroking and promises made that she wasn’t quite sure she could keep. More run-ins with the haughty, condescending nobles, more blighted politics. The thought made her shudder with repulsion.

Out in the countryside there might be more darkspawn, but at least there’d be fewer people.

“Sol!”

Her name, called by a familiar voice somewhere behind her. She groaned to herself. Why was it that people thought she actually wanted to _talk?_

“Sol, wait!”

Solona stopped, turning on her heel to await Ander’s approach. His cocky smirk was gone as he practically jogged across the grass.

“I uh… wanted to apologize,” Anders offered sheepishly, coming to a stop before her. “For last night. If I honestly thought you’d need me, I would have come.”

Solona stood quietly, trying to decide if she should blow it off, or milk it for a little while. She let his words hang in the air, unacknowledged. Anders studied her, his golden brown eyes searching her face with confusion. He was nearly a whole head taller than her, his lips sitting right at eye level. Solona couldn’t help her gaze wandering, taking in the stubble, the strong neck, the glinting of his gold earring. She forced herself to look away.

“You know, I can never tell when you’re mad at me,” he laughed as he shifted on his feet. “So I think I’m just going to assume that you always are, just to be on the safe side.”

Solona stared at him blankly. She couldn’t deny that she kind of liked to see him squirm, but his suspecting she had a personal grievance didn’t sit well with her. But in the past she’d learned that in situations where she didn’t know what to say, silence was usually the best answer.

“Anyway, Nathaniel was right, that was rude. Those things that I said. So, you know, sorry about that too,” he said. Solona’s gut soured again. She felt her brows furrow and jaw clench, but quickly tried to relax them. His comments shouldn’t have bothered her. Naturally she didn’t want to hear about the location of his balls, at least with regard to other women. And by all rights he _shouldn’t_ see her as a lady. He should only see her as a Commander. That was all exactly as it should be.

Against her will, something inside softened a little. She always was a sucker for an apology. Grudge-holding had never been her forte, despite how otherwise curmudgeonly she’d become in the last seven months. She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling completely off balance. She decided to breeze past it, go for the part she was comfortable addressing.

“You _are_ our only healer, Anders. If something had happened to Nathaniel, I wouldn’t have been able to help him like you could,” she said.

Anders snorted. “Nothing has happened to Nathaniel yet. Nothing has happened to any of us. How could it when we barely see any fighting?”

He was saying it gently, but she saw the little sharpness in his eye.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, “The darkspawn are everywhere, even coming up from _the fucking basement_ —”

“Yeah, and every time we see any of them you go charging in practically by yourself,” he said. “You don’t leave anything for us to do half the time. Sol, do you even _want_ our help? Because it doesn’t seem like you do.”

Solona crossed her arms, and felt her frown deepen. The truth was that she didn’t. At least not all the time.

“Yes, well I imagine the hordes are only going to get larger the further toward their source we get, and I’ll need you then,” she insisted.

She was tempted to say more, to explain. _Besides, killing them feels good. I need every last one of them to suffer the way they’ve made me suffer._

“No, look, nevermind. It’s fine. I came out here to apologize, not…” Anders said. His gaze was now behind her, his eyes following something — no, _someone —_ who was walking across the grass. She heard the steps, and then a low, lilting voice mumbling quietly. Turning, she quickly confirmed that one of the younger female soldiers was crossing close by, talking quietly with her partner. A curl of silky blonde hair peeked out from under her helmet.

Solona resumed facing Anders, letting herself scowl openly. It figured that he couldn’t even get through a single serious conversation. Maybe if she was prettier, maybe if she was someone he wanted to _fuck_ he might actually be able to pay attention. It was just like it had been back in the circle. Any temptation Solona had to apologize in return, to open up to him a little snapped shut. Anders’ interest in their conversation was bleeding away like blood through an open gash. Hot anger rose up her spine.

“Are you done?” she demanded impatiently. She wasn’t even sure what she was referring to. Probably everything.

Anders laughed. He tore his eyes away from the woman behind her, and his smile immediately fell away as he registered Solona’s glare.

The air seemed to hum around them. He was quiet for a long minute while he studied her face. For a moment, it seemed like maybe he actually was truly trying to see her, to look beyond her scowl.

A warm, heavy hand fell onto her shoulder. It was the first gesture of that kind Anders had ever made in their month there together. Solona looked away, her furrowed brows aching.

“I’m sorry, Sol. I promise I’m not really the lecher you think I am. And we all admire your boldness,” he said softly. “I guess that’s how you came to be _the Hero_ and everything, right?”

Solona didn’t want to look up. Part of her wanted to laugh; he perceived it as boldness, but it wasn’t quite that, was it? The sour flutter in her gut was changing, turning into that thing that it was always in the circle. Something that was at times exhilarating, and at times poisonous. She was afraid to speak, lest her words all come out as a stutter. His hand on her shoulder squeezed.

“Hey, maybe I’m just jealous. I’ve never seen anyone throw so much of themselves into a fight.”

She chanced a look up, and was startled by the warmth she saw in his eyes. She looked away quickly, her cheeks burning.

Alistair had brown eyes, too. Deep, soulful, expressive eyes that could wrench her heart into knots, or reduce her to tearful laughter. Anders was taller than her too, by about the same amount. This would all be a lot easier if Anders didn’t share so many similarities with him. If Anders wasn’t also _Anders._

Maker’s breath, she never would have guessed she’d be sharing a home and a blood-pact with the man she’d spent so many years desperately infatuated with, the man who’d made her years at the circle a special kind of torture. What she’d give to just forget about him again, the way she had up until last month.

She nodded, conjuring up the closest thing to a smile that she could muster and walked out from under his grasp. Turning toward the open courtyard, she took a deep breath. She took step after step, forcing herself not to wonder what he was doing behind her. She hadn’t said _thanks_ but the conversation was clearly over.

The way she felt around him was stifling, as though the world had closed up into a small little box without any air. It made her simultaneously want to melt into nothingness, and to rage against her restraint, to reduce the walls of that box to powder. She was NOT that sixteen year old girl anymore, despite how hard her brain seemed to want her to be. She was a hero, a Commander of the Grey Wardens. And, she was a desirable woman, even if he didn’t see it. Not that that particularly mattered. A large part of her had the urge to turn back around and take out all her pent-up frustration on him, to punish him for those years in the circle. To hit him, rip his clothes from his body and immobilize his limbs, to force him to see that she wasn’t the meek, inexperienced little girl he used to disregard. She knew her power now. She knew her body. One doesn’t spend every spare moment for a year sequestered in a tent with an equally libidinous man and not learn _tricks._

 

Oh but what would Alistair think? He’d laugh at her impulse to prove herself. He’d clench his teeth and chide her gently for the attention she was paying to another man. He’d pity Anders for being so oblivious.

She could hear Alistair’s voice in her head.

_I feel sorry for him, actually. For every man in the world who will never know your touch. They don’t even know that they’re living in hell._

It was something he’d said before, though she couldn’t remember exactly why. His voice played back like a siren call, luring her attention inward, away from the bustle of the Vigil’s Keep courtyard, from the awareness of Anders still standing several meters away, from the acidic roil in her gut. Memory of the dulcet sounds of her love quickly rendered everything else around her inconsequential and moot, deflating the tension she carried with each step over the courtyard grass.

Alistair. His eyes, his voice, his profound, palpable, life-changing _love._ Anders was a joke in comparison.

 

 _S_ he closed her eyes briefly as she walked and took a deep breath, giving herself over to memory. It was something she did only when she had to. It was too painful to indulge too often. But there, brought up nearly instantaneously, was the smell of the campfire, the feel of Alistair’s arms wrapping tight and strong around her waist, the whisper of the trees swaying overhead, the call of owls and creatures of the night, all going about their lives in the woods beyond the camp. Memory enveloped her. She and Alistair had lived for the moments when they could leave their armor in a pile and steal some time alone out in the forest. When she’d curl into his lap while the campfire flames licked at the darkness, and wait the requisite amount of time before retiring to their tent.

Solona’s scowl was replaced by a sad smile as she recalled how Alistair would rest his chin on her shoulder and narrate the activities of their camp-mates. He especially he loved when Morrigan would go talk to Sten. He was absolutely convinced that they were madly in love.

Dinner would be hastily dispatched, and then he’d take her in his arms and make the rest of the world, and all the problematic characters from her past — stupid circle crushes especially — all fall away completely.

 

Solona sighed. She felt better. Returning to camp with Alistair, even if only in memory, was like a meditation. It made her long for country breezes and campfires. It put things in the world right again, as right as they could be while they were also so egregiously wrong.

But Anders’ apology was nice enough, and she supposed she’d accept it. She wasn’t sure what she was really expecting from him anyway. Obviously she couldn’t dictate how he conducted his personal affairs. Her time here would be too fleeting for it to matter much longer. Before she knew it, she will have moved on to a newer, better realm, leaving Anders to his philandering, Nathaniel to his brooding, Oghren to his drinking.

  
The Wending Wood suddenly sounded like a nice place to die.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel has complicated feelings for Solona.

He wasn’t trying to watch for her, but when her shadow took its place on the watchtower roof, Nathaniel noticed. A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, she was a silhouette of black against a gangrenous sky; the stars beyond only just blinking into view before being swallowed into the blackness of the swelling storm clouds. It would be another rainy night. Which meant the roads out of the Keep would be muddy in the morning. It would take most of the day to get to the Wending Woods anyhow, and mud would ensure that progress was extra slow

He hadn’t had his archer’s instinct when he lived here in his youth, but the night he sneaked back in for the first time, after years and years in the Marches, he saw the Keep with new eyes. That instinct he’d honed for a decade immediately identified the best spots up high, perches from which to launch an attack or mount a defense with his bow, should the need arise. The roof that Solona went to to drink herself into oblivion was one he’d marked as the ideal spot within this particular location. From that vantage point most of the courtyard was visible, with few hidden corners or blind spots. An arrow launched from that roof had clear line of sight to most of the rest of the Keep, with only minor obstructions.

Of course the vengeful plan he arrived with was quickly discarded, and not only because Solona turned out to be something he had not expected.

He wasn’t sure what he was readying himself to see upon news of her arrival. Descriptions of her had created an image that loomed large and menacing in his mind; a vicious murderer who’d preyed sadistically upon his family name. He imagined a hulking Qunari of a woman, fierce and massive, wielding a ten foot staff and leaving a trail of corpses in her wake.

But one day this little woman quietly approached his dungeon cell, with the only indication given that she was anything special being the way everyone else reacted to her. She wasn't dramatic or striking in her beauty. Her hair was mousy and plain, but her eyes were such a rich, bottomless brown that her pupils were lost within them. Indeed he’d felt a little lost within them himself. He watched, fascinated as guards stepped out of her way, falling back as though blown by a stream of wind, after which they froze and watched her warily. He wasn’t sure what they were expecting her to do, but they seemed to be expecting something.

Nathaniel, for his part, expected execution. It’s what his father had always done to trespassers, without exception. And why wouldn’t this woman, this infamous _Grey Warden,_ do the same? If this plain little creature inspired such fear it must have been for a reason. Surely she was not the type to suffer fools or grant mercy. How could she be, knowing what she had accomplished?

But Solona had only questioned him calmly, and then let him get his things and go.

She’d thrown him off balance from the very beginning, and in his attempt to figure her out, he found himself increasingly intrigued. She spoke rarely and he’d yet to see a genuine smile. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like. Instead her face remained an unreadable mask, though her eyes occasionally sparked with something simultaneously unhinged and restrained.

Like what he’d seen the previous night in the Deep Roads. If he hadn’t known better, he might have suspected she was possessed.

A crack of thunder rolled in the distance. The rain might be here before she found unconsciousness tonight. Maybe this would be one of the nights she’d be forced to take herself inside to her quarters, letting him off the hook. Carrying her down off the roof wasn’t easy, and it was a miracle she hadn’t woken during any of the other times he’d had to do it. She definitely wouldn’t have woken if she’d rolled off the roof to the courtyard below.

But after the night before, it seemed that perhaps that was precisely what she wanted.

He sighed, the breeze of the approaching storm rustling the trees in the lower section of the Keep. He’d made a habit of sitting where he could see her until she became nothing more than a slumped over bump on the roof. The distance between them was just enough to blot out any of that strange, tainted awareness they all shared. He wondered if perhaps that was another thing she was seeking up there.

Nathaniel himself often wished he could escape it. Like flies buzzing around his head, the feeling of the other Wardens doing their thing in different rooms, on different levels of the battlements and courtyard, stole his focus. He felt the constant need to analyze their movements, make sure those little tickles in his mind were really just other Wardens and not actual, invading darkspawn. He’d find himself in the middle of a sentence of a book, or staring off into space as he walked while he did a ‘check’ of the others, wanting to be certain of who and what they were.

It was exasperating actually.

Maybe someday he’d get used to it.

But until then, it was the main reason he liked the quiet of the night. With the other Wardens asleep in their beds, he could finally let his mind relax. It was only when someone got up and began to move that he was tugged back into awareness. Occasionally Anders and his pick of the day would take their activities outside of his room. And occasionally Oghren would sneak into the kitchen for a bite, despite the fact that they’d promised Lya they wouldn’t do that anymore. But mostly when the Wardens did sleep, they slept _hard._

It didn’t take long tonight. He’d spent only an hour or so at his usual distractions, when usually it took quite a bit longer. Still, he’d already discussed armor repairs at length with Wade, sharpened the points of his arrows, even beyond what they actually needed, Then went over plans with Voldrik for fortifying the Keep walls. All things that could be done under the night sky, usually a balm of its own, completely unrelated to any misguided concern about his Commander.

Part of him wanted to just go up there while she was still coherent and talk to her. Ask her… things. He wasn’t sure what. That was part of why he didn’t. They had so few conversations that weren’t about Warden business. How inappropriate it seemed to invite himself into the Commander’s personal retreat and begin asking her questions. Still, the impulse was there.

Perhaps she was just thinking about the journey ahead. They were about to venture into new territory, the forests to the Southeast of the Keep, investigating a mystery of some sort that had been relayed without any actual details. Apparently the sources had been credible enough to risk the trip, despite the vagueness. He’d always heard tales of Sylvans in those woods, which made him nervous. He wasn’t sure a bunch of wooden arrows would be able to do much damage on something that was already made entirely of wood.

The breeze had been steadily growing stronger, whipping Nathaniel’s hair into his eyes. Wade and Herren began cleaning up their stall, getting ready to retreat into the safety of the main hall. The guards and soldiers were gathering into a huddle, apparently going over the station assignments. Thunder grew louder, rumbling the ground under Nathaniel’s feet. The electric charge in the air and the heavy caress of moisture on the wind indicated that a deluge was coming, only twenty, maybe thirty minutes out. Bodies scampered out of the courtyard like mice scattering out of a grainary.

Nathaniel gazed openly up to the roof where Solona had been. Any remaining twilight was now replaced by unbroken darkness, leaving not even a silhouette to mark her presence. He sighed halfheartedly. He’d have to check, and just hope she’d made her own way in. If not, this would be the fourth time he’d pulled her limp body off the roof and transplanted her, fully clothed and shod, on the bed within her own quarters. He could only imagine what she thought, waking up safe in bed so many mornings after passing out on the roof. Maybe she assumed she was making it down on her own somehow. Maybe she didn’t care enough to think about it at all.

Guards hunkered down on the battlements. Nathaniel could feel Anders, already tucked away in his quarters. And Oghren, stationary within the makeshift pub. No surprise there. As he wound around the battlement pathways toward the various steps leading up the levels, her presence grew sharper and sharper. She was definitely still up there. And she was definitely not moving.

It wouldn’t be easy to get her back to her room unnoticed. Most nights it was late enough to avoid hallway traffic, but the storm was forcing people inside so much earlier than usual.

Nathaniel made his final climb silently, wondering as he did so why he even bothered with stealth. If the thunder and wind wasn’t waking her, it was unlikely that the sound of him approaching would either, but like so many other things it had become an irrepressible force of habit.

His heart pounded in his ears, something anxious gathering into a heavy ball in his chest. He swallowed hard as he felt her, only meters away, his Warden sense buzzing with her latent strength.

Flashes of lightning illuminated the rooftop, bathing the scene in silver light. Near the furthest edge she lay curled on her side, one foot hanging over the lip of the roof, her hair splayed over her face. A dull metal flask on the slate beside her hand. One second she was visible in the electric flash, and the next the world was draped in darkness again. He followed the imprint of the vision on his mind, putting his hands where he remembered her limbs, slipping one arm under her knees, and another under her back, pulling her toward him while turning her enough to scoot her weight higher. He had to bounce her a time or two, to settle her more solidly into his grip. Her head flopped inward toward his shoulder, coming to rest on his chest.

She needed to wash her hair, but her natural scent was not unpleasant. It was familiar to him now, after four nights of breathing it in.

Nathaniel blinked through the darkness and turned to lower himself over the edge closest to the rail of the pathway below. He completed the dismount with two quick, measured jumps, first to the rail and then to a crate, his footholds easy to find in the frequent flashes. Tendrils of lightning crawled across the sky, webbing out like the roots of a tree. The thunder that followed grew ever quicker on its heels. She jostled in his arms as he landed finally on the pathway. Nathaniel froze when he heard her groan.

She’d never made a noise before. He’d thought a bit about what he should do if she ever woke while he was carrying her, but he hadn’t come to any acceptable conclusion. He had the comical impulse to drop her and run, but he was sure that wouldn’t end well once she’d regained her wits. He could continue to carry her as though it was no big deal, revealing it to be the habit it had become, but she might not appreciate that either. She’d have to realize that she always woke with every item of her clothing in place. But how could she be sure he’d never lingered in her quarters? That despite the desire to, he never sat an studied her in her sleep, taking advantage of a moment she was more vulnerable than she could possibly know? Or that he wasn’t letting himself into her space on other occasions too? It would open up a whole door of new suspicions, and he already had enough of those to deal with. He bit his lip and said a silent prayer to the Maker. _At least let her sleep until I am gone and Maker help me I will never bother with this again._

Her grumble died away, but she shifted, the warm strength of her body nestling against his and then falling still again. On his back, where her arm had been dangling, he felt a light pressure. He wasn’t certain, but it seemed she was _holding him_ in return?

Nathaniel’s heart was instantly in his throat. He began to move forward with a new urgency, his steps falling quiet but not as light as they did without the extra weight. He kept to the shadows, darting across columns of light where braziers were lit, their flames flapping low and dim in the growing wind. He remained constantly aware of the possibility of other eyes in the darkness. It would be one thing to have Solona wake during the trip to her room, it would another for her to find out by being told about it from some confused onlooker. Surely that would be the worst way for her to find out. Nathaniel felt safest in the knowledge that he was preserving her dignity by making sure that not just Solona, but _no one_ ever knew.

He also had the advantage of knowing all the back pathways, the rarely used passages and alternate routes. He’d spent his whole childhood hiding away from his father’s guards, keeping out of earshot of his parent's terrible fights. He knew the most unused door which entered into the third floor, and could make the trip down to her quarters fairly swiftly, up until the final hallway.

The final hallway ran parallel to the main hall, making sure that Solona didn’t have to travel far to greet her guests or join in on any impromptu meetings. Multiple doors lined the wall, leading to various rooms and quarters, including Anders’ on the furthest end. 

His own was on another level. He’d insisted on taking his old bedroom, though once he was moved in, he’d regretted the decision. It was hardly full of memories he wanted to recapture. Mostly he recalled constantly seeking an escape, from his father’s vicious temper, from the pitiful sight of his beleaguered mother, from the gloating of Thomas, and how Delilah would often henpeck him to death despite being two years his junior. Delilah he missed. The others... well he was regularly encountering memories that reminded him why he'd always been so eager to leave.

Approaching that last hall, Nathaniel slowed to a tiptoe, stopping just before rounding the final corner. Solona stirred again, her body twitching as though caught in a dream, and it didn’t seem to be a pleasant one. Another low groan from her throat and the arm at his back tightened, confirming that touch was precisely what it seemed to be. It increased as her muscles tensed, and he felt her head jerk.

He was listening hard down the hall, but could hardly hear the presence of anyone over the blaring of his own heart. He swallowed and adjusted her again, her body responding as he resettled his grip. She was leaning against him now, making her heft easier to bear, particularly in comparison to her usual dead weight.

He took a breath. It was too late to turn back. He had to make it through the last stretch before they were either discovered by a guard or she woke. But it was the home-stretch, certain to be over in mere minutes if he could just finish this undetected. Holding her tightly against him, he leaned slightly toward the corner of the wall, peeking with one eye down the carpeted corridor.

Empty.

He burst into motion, taking long, swift strides and covering the distance to her door in the space of several heartbeats. He’d already had her key ready to insert into the lock, something he realized the first time was crucial to reducing his time just standing in the hall. It was only when he had her door close silently behind them that he realized he’d forgotten to breathe during the sprint. And it was only another second after that that he heard voices murmuring somewhere in a distant stretch of the hall.

Those voices didn’t belong to the other Wardens, both of whom hadn’t changed their position. He could only hope that Anders was sufficiently distracted and Oghren too inebriated to feel the proximity of his and Solona’s energy, at least for the brief moment it would take to drop her into her bed and make his retreat.

With one step toward her bed, Solona tensed again, her body reacting to some inner stimulus. She clutched Nathaniel hard, her fingers digging into his back for a moment before falling limp again, her arm dropping away completely. Nathaniel crossed the room as the first drops of rain began to patter against the window. The sound was like the pelting of rocks, hitting the glass with a sharp snap. He rushed to the side of her bed, readying himself to drop her, becoming more sure by the second that she was about to wake. Between the dream, the rain, and the early hour, it seemed this was the night Nathaniel would be discovered. He told himself he wouldn’t do this again, that if she really wanted so badly to sleep on the blighted roof of a little watchtower, then who was _he_ to intervene? He certainly wasn’t her keeper. He wasn’t much of anything at all to her. They’d had a few conversations, and she’d been kind enough to find his grandfather’s bow, but she spoke less to him on a regular basis than she did to others. She often seemed too fixated on Anders, for some confounding reason, to even notice when Nathaniel was nearby.

He dropped to a knee, getting into position to offload her onto her mattress when her arm was at his back again, fingers fisting at the tunic below the edges of his leathers. Her groan became a whimper. Her head dug into the nook of his neck.

He froze, afraid this was the moment. Maker, what would she think?

The whimper became words, so quiet and slurred with sleep that he could hardly decipher them. Until one lengthened out into a tortured “ _Nooo…”_

He was holding his breath again, waiting, listening. Her muscles twitched with her dream, her body pressing toward him as though she was resisting being separated.

“No, please…” she cried softly. “ _Please…”_

The anguish in her voice was a razor in his gut, slicing painfully at something nervous and fluttery inside him. Lightning flashed in the window, brightening the room and revealing her face against his chest, brows drawn in a picture of abject sadness. Despite his better judgment, Nathaniel tightened his hold on her, the opposite of what he should have been doing. He lowered his head, resting his lips on her head, holding her tightly for a long, tense moment.

Almost immediately, she stilled. He felt her limbs go limp again as they relaxed against him. He took several long breaths, inhaling the scent of her, trying to tell himself that he wasn’t doing this for selfish reasons, for whatever fascinated part of him insisted on thinking of her as often as it did, that studied the even, delicate features of her face when she thought no one was looking. The part of him that wondered about the mysteries buried in the rich depths of her eyes.

Inching ever closer to her bed, he unfurled his arms slightly, bringing her down to rest upon the top of her blanket.

She gripped him tighter, evidently sensing she was about to be released.

“ _Don’t leave me.”_ Her breath was coming in jagged bursts, almost a sob. Nathaniel froze again, watching the darkness where her face should be, waiting for the next bolt of lightning that would reveal her to him.

He couldn’t help but wonder if she might already be somewhat awake. Did she know she wasn’t alone? Could she feel his presence there with her, beyond just the comfort of his arms? The Wardens often had strange dreams anyhow, but to what extent did their awareness of each other influence the content of those dreams?

The thought that perhaps she might actually have been talking to _him_ was irresistible, even as he knew it was unlikely. Nathaniel shook his head and tried to ease his arm out from under her. There was nothing he wanted from her that didn’t come with full her full, sober consent. But her grip was such that it might need to be pried away, and he wasn’t sure he could do so without waking her entirely.

He sighed, freeing the arm out from under her knees, even as her body curled toward him.

When the lightning did come again, it showed him his own hand, smoothing back her hair. And then his thumb caressing her cheek, confirming it was just as silky as it always looked.

He shook his head, reprimanding himself. He needed to get out of there, and quickly. The longer he stayed, the longer the chances the other Wardens would pick up on his location, though he quickly confirmed neither of the other two had moved themselves. They seemed awfully happy doing whatever it was that they were both doing. Or perhaps they were simply asleep, despite the early hour.

Her hand found his forearm, pulling him down toward her.

“ _Please,”_ she said again.

Nathaniel knew he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be letting himself follow the urging of her surprisingly solid grip as she pulled him closer. He shouldn't be letting the arm around her shoulders stay where it was, and even slip under a little deeper. He shouldn’t be acquiescing to her inebriated, heartbreaking request and situating his body on the bed beside her, letting himself be sucked into the vacuum of her sadness, of her desire for him to stay. He shouldn’t be gathering her up into a tight embrace, wanting to take away the storm that was raging quietly inside her.

“ _Stay with me,”_ she said as she rolled into his chest. Her cheek nestled itself comfortably in the hollow of his shoulder, and she sighed as she grew heavy again. He felt just as caught up in her dream as she was, though he was blind to what she was actually seeing. He only knew that she seemed to fit perfectly against him, her torso filling up the space under his arm as though they were two halves of a whole. He knew that she was responding to him, that her storm was calming, even as the one outside raged and grew in fury. He knew his hands were trembling, with nerves, with exhilaration, with the fear that he was doing something wrong; that he was trespassing in a way that was unforgivable, that to do the right thing and remove himself completely would be even worse still.

But she was calm now, and he could feel her heartbeat against him, descending down from some distressed peak. More flashes of light illuminated a softness in her face, replacing the anguish previously etched into her features with a new serenity. She took a deep breath, her exhalation tremoring as she released the last of the tension in her body.

It was all too surreal. He could only stay until she was back in a deep, undreaming sleep again, and then he’d have to extract himself and leave. But the effect of her relaxing in his arms seemed be to mutual; slipping him into some sort of sympathetic trance.

It had been so long since he’d been with a woman, even to lay innocently beside one and hold her in his arms. Years, if he recalled correctly, though he’d certainly had his share of late nights in raucous taverns back in the Marches, where he woke the next morning unsure of what had transpired in the latest hours. It didn’t seem fair to count those, when he couldn’t even remember who his companion had been, or if there had been one at all.

He dropped his head against hers, his cheek against the slightly oily tangle of her hair, thankful to listen to the regulating of her breaths and feel her presence wash over him. For all the nights he sought solitude in the furthest reaches of the Keep, it was an equal relief not to feel alone, even if only for a stolen couple of minutes.

If only he knew what demons haunted and propelled her to do the things she did. Holding her was an easy cure for this night’s unrest, but it could only have been a symptom of something deeper. He still got chills when he recalled the look she gave him as she stood in the Deep Roads shivering in that little gown. It was the look of someone with nothing to lose. The look of someone who had already lost.

He wondered whom she was speaking to. It couldn’t truly be that she knew it was him there, could it? They had shared a moment, he thought, down in the Deep Roads. A moment that maybe she was afraid of acknowledging, but it had stuck with him, blazingly lucid despite the awkwardness of the day after. It was impossible to tell if she disliked him or was indifferent to him, or if she even thought about him at all.

Could that possibility exist? Even just a little bit, that she might think of him sometimes? That she might have considered him somehow, as more than just another body to help rebuild the Wardens, or more than just the man who broke back into his own home a month ago, with plans for murder that he'd openly confessed?

What kind of man could capture the heart of such a mysterious, unknowable, otherwordly creature? Who was it she dreamed was holding her in the dark?

The answer came almost too quiet to hear under the din of the pounding rain and thunder. He felt the words leave her, carried by a sleepy, contented breath. He knew it was foolish to hope, that she'd given him no reason to think he held even a spark of her interest. The disappointment that followed the name she spoke ran deeper than he was prepared for.

_Alistair._

 


	4. Four

The only sound as the group moved was the occasional gust of wind through the treetops, and the sucking and sloshing of feet trampling through the mud. Solona had expected more complaining, but everyone seemed too focused on their footing to bother. It was the one upside to the soaked conditions.

The breeches she’d put on that morning were a good call. Anders had repeatedly had to knock chunks of drying mud off the bottom of his robe, and she noticed him eying her outfit with a frown anytime they stopped or changed course. But mostly Solona kept her head down and charged steadfastly forward, wanting only to get as far as possible while the daylight remained. With the heavy clouds obscuring the sun, darkness would come early.

She’d awoken that morning in a disoriented state that had lingered all afternoon, casting the world under a dreamlike pall. She kept hearing the click of her bedroom door closing shut, feeling the energy of another Warden retreating down the hall, what she’d assumed then was just a strange end to a strange dream. She’d been up and on her way to breakfast before she’d even given it a second thought. The ravenous hunger tearing through her stomach was the most urgent priority, as was usually the case upon waking. The need to eat didn’t leave much room for deep, early morning contemplation.

She sighed at her appearance in the mirror as she hastily crossed the room to the door. She’d slept in her boots and robe again; not exactly the most comfortable night clothes. Whatever sliver of coherency that had helped her get down off the roof and to her room the night before apparently didn’t see the need to undress. Or get under the covers, for that matter. Yet despite the puffiness around her eyes and the scratch of dryness in her throat, she felt unusually warm and well rested.

So she’d rushed to breakfast, securing a mouth full of food before even bothering to grunt hello to Anders or locate a clean plate. She was completely absorbed in filling the painful vacancy in her stomach while the others streamed in and gathered up their own breakfasts. And then Lya had arrived.

 

It was the sudden silence that got Solona’s attention. At the end of the table Lya scowled, her skinny frame towering over the feasting Wardens. Holding up an empty burlap with a hole torn in the middle, Lya began her angry tirade, one they’d all heard before. _I thought at first the rats were back, until I saw the mess ye left me in the basin…_

Solona searched what slivers of memory she could locate for any indication it had been her that visited the kitchen in the middle of the night. Most nights the liquor dulled her cravings, which she assumed was why her morning hunger was completely without mercy. But she still had been the guilty kitchen raider once or twice. The last time she’d even stumbled upon all three of the others already stuffing their faces, with the kitchen counter covered with half eaten items pulled from the larder. That had been Lya’s final straw, and what had led to their tenuous agreement of an extra-early, oversized breakfast.

But Solona’s memory of the night before was filled with darkness, and what images did seem to slip through had nothing to do with food.

Maker, how she wished she truly could feel Alistair’s arms around her again, his body against hers, tangling up tight and sharing warmth and breath. Solona closed her eyes as she chewed, trying to soak herself in the memory. Alistair had a magic in his touch, and the desire to feel it again was often so intense as to be physically painful. Last night’s dream had a vividness to it that stretched beyond mere images, and, even stranger, there were times she was certain he was with her in her own room. She recalled the chest below her head rising and falling with breath, the lubbing of a heartbeat in her ear. Hair had tickled her cheek.

But Alistair had never worn his hair long. What an unexpected thing for her mind to insert into a dream.

And then there was the click of her door that morning… The presence of another Warden in the hall…

 

Silence again. Lya had finished her admonishments. Solona looked up and saw all three of the others sitting with their heads hanging, their cheeks pink with shame. Oghren’s was an especially deep shade. Lya’s stare was piercing Solona, waiting expectantly, but Solona had hardly heard a word of whatever she’d said.

Sitting up, Solona cleared her throat.

“My apologies Lya,” she offered. “I’ll tell Thom to have locks installed on the larders while we’re away.”

Lya sighed, her hands on her hips.

“You’d best be securing more merchants ‘round here before you make any more Wardens.” She wagged a thin, knotty finger at Solona. “The soldiers’ is gonna starve to death if they have to share provisions with more of you animals!”

Solona picked up the lambshank bone resting beside her plate and lobbed it at Oghren. It thunked against his head, then ricocheted off and skittered across the floor.

“Apologize Oghren,” Solona ordered.

He hung his head and mumbled something. Whatever it was seemed to have been enough for Lya. She stomped away, shaking her head.

Anders tut-tutted at Oghren. The dwarf rose from his bench to retrieve the lambshank, and inspected it closely for any remaining scraps of meat. He saw quickly that Solona had already stripped it clean.

“You’re going to let that little woman get away with talking to you like that?” Anders asked with a raised eyebrow. “The Commander of the Grey Wardens, given a right _scolding….”_

Solona met his gaze and inspected his face, his arms and shoulders. If his hair had been loose from his ponytail, it would have been the right height to tickle her cheek. He also had the right build, but she had a hazy memory of leather… but then Alistair had worn leather in their early days. Another strange thing for her mind to insert.

“Sol?” Anders asked, waiting.

“Ever heard the phrase ‘you don’t bite the hand that feeds you?’” Solona responded flatly. “Lya is _literally_ that hand.”

She dropped her eyes back down to her plate, surprised, as she always was, that it was empty. The food always disappeared so quickly. Instead she grabbed at her mug of coffee, letting herself inhale the steam and feeling her tired pores open, her stuffy sinuses clearing. Lya always made their coffee nice and strong.

 

“What was in it?” Anders asked, nudging Oghren.

“Turnips,” Oghren croaked.

Nathaniel snorted, almost choking on his coffee. “You did the soldiers a favor. They should thank you.”

“And why in the Maker’s name would you eat a whole bag of turnips, of all things!?” Anders exclaimed.

Oghren shrugged. “Reminds me of home. Some of the only food you surfacers have that does. Like Ma’s roasted turnips and suckling nugs….” He groaned hungrily and trailed off.

A few more flashes of the night before surfaced. Arms squeezing her close, fingers tenderly brushing through her hair. The memory, now that it had emerged, was real enough to make her shudder. She rolled her head on her shoulders, feeling the skin under her robe tingle with shivers.

Solona’s eyes flicked back up to Anders. He was looking at her again, with a little smirk this time. She looked away quickly.

 

Was it truly possible that someone had actually been in the room with her? Might she have propositioned someone on the way back from the roof? That was not the sort of thing she would normally do, but who knows what madness she’d get up to while blackout drunk on shitty Brandy. That she could walk back from the roof at all was surprise all its own. Not the most dignified of things for a Warden-Commander to do, but it wouldn’t be much longer that anyone would have to tolerate her anyway.

And if the presence she felt this morning was an indication, it clearly had to have been a Warden…

It was a thought that was both a little disconcerting, and enough to stir up a horde of butterflies in her stomach.

 

Solona looked next to Nathaniel. His eyes were fixed distantly on his plate, his attention lost to something deep within his own mind. He had that severe countenance and sallow complexion that all the Howes had. Solona sometimes saw shades of his father in him, particularly when he was irritated. Anders brought that out of him regularly. Nathaniel was naturally much more attractive than Rendon had been, but still, nothing about him screamed _warm._ Solona couldn’t imagine him being particularly affectionate to anyone, though she admittedly hadn’t spent the time to get to know him.

It was difficult to talk to him without being reminded both of Rendon’s treachery, and of Nathaniel’s own lowly opinion of her. She was a squatter in his family home, he’d said, and the reason his family were now “pariahs.” As though his father hadn’t sicced an Antivan Crow on her first, or tried to plunder Ferelden for his own gain, or gone well out of his way to _earn_ that title _The Butcher of Denerim._

 _He just got caught up in politics!_ Nathaniel had argued about his father once. If he actually believed that was true, then he was woefully misinformed. Who knew what other, equally incorrect opinions the man still quietly held.

It hardly seemed a possibility that he might accept any invitation back to her room. And equally unlikely that she might extend one.

 

Meanwhile Anders seemed to lavish his affections generously. Well, generously to everyone else. Still, she supposed it was possible that eventually he’d work his way through all the other prospects in the Keep, and then would find himself in need of new blood.

And he had squeezed her arm the day before….

No, that was too pathetic a gesture to latch onto. An arm squeeze could mean absolutely nothing.

 

Solona shook her head and finished up her coffee. She stood and barked the orders to meet at the outside gate in an hour, then rushed back to her room to change her clothes and grab her pack. As she entered, she felt her breath leave her. Memory took the reins of her mind again. Her stomach clenched as she reveled in the memory of being held. Whatever, _whoever_ it was, dream or reality, it had scratched an itch that she’d been trying her damnedest to ignore. Yet the itch only seemed stronger now. The need to be held, to not feel alone, to have the man she loved so desperately return to her, was enough to make her knees almost buckle.

She ended up walking over to her bed and standing there for longer than she could remember, scrutinizing the mess that was her blankets. The Maker created miracles, didn’t he? Could it be possible that Alistair had returned for a night, except she’d been too drunk to register it as anything other than a dreamy blur?

No, that sort of thing didn’t happen to people. As much as the Chantry liked to claim that miracles were real, no one she’d known had ever genuinely experienced one. It was much more likely that it was all just an unusually realistic dream. Or, a visitor in the night, one of the very few other Wardens who shared the Keep.

Wrinkles covered enough area for two people, particularly down where boots had cut trenches into the fabric. But she also could have just tossed and turned in the night, resulting in what only _looked_ like the imprint of two distinct bodies. Dreams of Alistair always made her sleep fitfully at best. Sometimes she even woke with tears streaming down her cheeks. The next morning she’d feel like an anvil had landed on her head.

Though that wasn’t her reality this morning. And if it hadn’t been for that blasted Warden hunger, she wouldn’t have wanted to leave the warm cocoon of last night’s sleep at all.

Was it actually possible that Anders, the very Anders to whom she’d been completely invisible for an agonizing handful of years, might have come to her room last night?

 

The longer she stood there, the less certain she was of anything.

 

 

————————————————————-

 

 

The walk throughout most of the morning was a slog, with poor short Oghren most burdened by the mud. Puddles that were only just past everyone else’s ankles had him sinking down nearly to his knees. In a fit of rage, Oghren took his battleaxe to a puddle, slicing angrily at the minefield of mud, succeeding in only sloshing himself further. It had been a laugh though, which the group sorely needed. The heavy grey clouds were oppressive, both physically and spiritually, and they’d regularly belched new mists of a frigid rain down upon them, coating them all in a bone-chilling sheen of moisture.

The only one who didn’t seem to mind was Solona, which was par for the course. She looked right at home among the misery.

Meanwhile Anders just felt downright ridiculous in his skirts. They swept through the mud, picking up a paste of brown that grew heavier and heavier as it accumulated. Solona had the right idea wearing breeches. She seemed to agree, based upon the sympathetic looks she offered Anders any time he stopped to try to kick some of the weight off.

He’d been watching her more today than he ever had, his mind boggled by the conversation he’d had with Nathaniel after breakfast a day prior, after he had cautiously asked if Anders and Solona had history back at the circle.

“History?” Anders had laughed. “You mean _that_ kind of history? Solona and I? Why would you think that?”

Nathaniel’s brows raised, and it took a moment for him to formulate a response. That had apparently not been the answer he expected.

“Well surely you knew each other at least?”

Anders sighed. “Why because we were both there at the same time? You must imagine the Ferelden circle as a _small_ place? A cozy little retreat where we all sat around a fire and sang kumbaya?”

Nathaniel only regarded him with that cold, unamused stare.

“Nope, sorry Howe. There were literally thousands of mages in the circle. There’s no way I could have tasted every attractive little morsel there. And trust me, _I tried.”_

Until Karl, at least. That had pretty much taken him out of the game for a while. And then there was the blighted year in solitary…

Anders studied Nathaniel’s face. He wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding his surprise. Anders scoured his memory, realizing that there were quite a few ladies, and men, who he’d met in some out of the way place a time or two, and whom he’d hardly be able to pick out of a line-up now.

“Unless…” he coughed, almost ashamed to admit it. “Well, maybe I did? I mean, I guess it’s possible. A lot of them sort of blur together in my memory to be honest. Ouch, that would sting, wouldn’t it? Assuming _she_ remembered. Or cared. Do you think that maybe that’s why she’s so mean to me?”

“ _Mean_ to you!?” Nathaniel had snorted. “She’s nicer to you than she is to anyone. Which is precisely why I wondered…”

“She is?” Anders laughed, cocking his head. “Well. If _that’s_ nice, then she must really dislike the lot of you.”

Exasperated, Nathaniel had called him a nitwit and stormed away.

 

Little curly hairs had broken free from Solona’s messy bun, and were sticking to the back of her neck. Anders had been eying that slender neck of hers ever since there’d been light enough to see, admiring how delicate and pale her skin was. It was such a contrast to her steeliness, which made it seem all the more mesmerizing. The prospect that he might possibly have bedded her at some point and not remembered it nagged at him. Of course she hadn’t been the Hero then. But if he could claim to have slept with the Hero, even if it was back when she was a total unknown, then that would be something special wouldn’t it? Not every man could boast of having intimate knowledge of the woman who’d saved Thedas from the fifth blight.

And really, she _was_ a bit prettier than he’d given her credit for. Perhaps not upon first glance, but she had the sort of aesthetic pleasantness that revealed itself in little flashes the longer that you looked at her. Her features were symmetrical, though not overly dramatic or striking. She had heavy, sort of _silky_ eyelids that draped over her large brown eyes in a very sensual fashion. _Bedroom eyes,_ he’d heard it called. _Come hither_ eyes. Though on Solona they didn’t exactly say “come hither.” They mostly just said _leave me alone._ And her mouth was nice. Small, pink and heart shaped, like a perfect little rosebud. Though in every other way she was exactly the type of girl who would sort of fade into the walls, at least while next to some of the circle’s more ostentatious beauties.

Exactly the type he probably would have had a go with in some corner of the circle and then forgotten quickly after. But he assumed they all forgot him too. That’s what they _all_ did! It’s not like none of them knew what the game was!

 

But it was hard not to see her, really _see_ her, when she got that look in her eye and took down a whole swath of darkspawn singlehandedly. Anders had always been a little jealous of the mages who could pull off all those complicated destruction spells. Oh he could do it too, no question about that, but not without cost to his mana and energy. He was perfectly deadly in fact, thank you very much. But, well, so what if destruction was not his primary talent? He could do so many other things, like bring horribly injured people back from the brink of death! Not everyone could do that!

Solona, however, made those complicated destruction spells look effortless. And, he had to admit, that was kind of _hot._

Anders offered her a half smile as he stepped gingerly through a particularly wet patch of road.

“I feel like a debutante at a ball!” he joked as he daintily gathered up his robe skirts and dramatically extended a booted foot. “Minus all the filth.”

Her lip sort of curled. Anders sighed. She wasn’t an easy one to make smile. Even catching her eye could be a chore since she was always so bloody distracted. She seemed to have quite a lot to think about, even when she wasn’t exactly doing anything. He could only guess what horrible things she was thinking about him. Of course if they had known each other back in the circle, and she was sore about being tossed aside and forgotten, she was probably convinced that he was absolute slime now.

Anders wished he knew what the truth was.

 

Off the to far left of the pathway came that sickly tickle, a scratching at the corner of of his reality. The group came to a stop simultaneously, all four heads turning toward the shared sensation. A gust of wind picked up over the trees, bringing with it the slight stench of decaying flesh.

In less than a breath, Solona was off, taking a sharp turn away from the path and striding deep into the woods. Darkspawn lay within, a large horde of them, but still too far away to determine number or types. Anders sighed and followed her, with Oghren and Nathaniel only a step or two behind. They had to sprint for several yards to catch up with her, their footing easier to find among the network of tree roots and rocky outcroppings within the trees. Anders still felt the muddy hem of his robe slapping against his boots, but he tried to put it out of his mind.

Silently they weaved through the trees until their Warden sense grew sharp and numbers of darkspawn became more discernible. Clusters of spawn that moments before had been only a chaotic mass were now organizing as they responded to their own growing awareness of the approaching Wardens. The numbers were changing direction to meet the Wardens head on, coalescing into a horde that felt in his mind like a tumor upon the world.

Solona pulled her staff free from her pack. A purple flash of light emitted from her staffhead, and at the same time the air around them prickled with a sharp, magical vibration. Anders pushed out a barrier spell, absorbing them all within its percussive blast, and leaving an orb of protection around each of the Wardens. Nathaniel was the first to split off to the right as he headed for a cluster of rocks on a nearby hilltop. Oghren’s little legs had to work twice as fast, but his energy seemed endless, and he quickly overtook Solona as he banked left, aiming for an arm of darkspawn that would be out of her blast radius.

Anders fell back, his staff coming free and charging with the hum of his power. He waited for the others to take position first, so that he could maneuver himself to keep them in his line of sight. He needed to locate a good place to send a blast of healing at the first indication of blood or flagging strength, and needed to find it quickly.

Solona, like in so many other ways, was tricky to tune into in the heat of battle. She was constantly moving out of his range and making his job harder. It was almost like she was doing it on purpose.

Nathaniel was quick with his arrows, bringing the first darkspawn down almost immediately after they came into view. The runners behind the first wave stumbled as they encountered the fallen bodies of their comrades, which only made them easier targets for Solona. The ambling bodies that made it past Nathaniel’s onslaught were quickly frozen into place by a barrage of Solona’s ice, which was her usual leading tactic, and an effective one at that. She spent the first few minutes slinging frost far and wide, encasing darkspawn into place so that Oghren or Nathaniel could finish the job, while Anders fed their protective barriers strength, keeping them nearly impenetrable.

Oghren sent frozen spawn bodies cascading to the ground in sparkling shards, his deep voice nearly roaring with the effort of swinging his massive axe. Nathaniel’s arrows seemed endless, though he paused between every wave of spawn to apply a mist of poison to his arrow tips.

The darkspawn horde was massive, consisting of a few dozen at least, with hurlocks and genlocks making up the first few waves, but bringing up the rear were an army of brutes surrounding three towering Emissaries. As soon as the tall, spellcasting spawn came into view so did the sickly green light of their magic, spiraling toward Nathaniel and Solona and slowly chipping away at their protective barriers.

Off to the left Anders’ attention was drawn, as the telltale slowing of Oghren’s swinging axe communicated the dwarf’s need for aid. As formidable as the little man was, he was also precisely at arm’s height, causing his helmeted head to absorb nearly every blow levied in his direction. Which, honestly, explained quite a lot. Whatever braincells survived Oghren’s drinking, were at least knocked silly during any battle. Anders took a breath and pulled a long drink of mana, sending a considerable burst of healing toward the dwarf. He held it strong even as he saw a few darkspawn manage to skirt Solona’s chain lightning and make their way toward him. With a swing of his staff he sent a wall of fire in their direction, but the spawn kept running through the flames, even as licks of fire clung to their tattered leathers and climbed up their bodies. The stench of sizzling flesh made Anders’ stomach heave with repulsion.

Anders jumped back a few steps and sent the spawn reeling back with a psychic blast. He heard himself howl as he put fireball after fireball into their faces, until finally each body flew off its feet and landed in a smoking heap before him.

When the flames cleared he looked up to confirm what his Warden sense was indicating: that the others were advancing further, taking themselves out of his range. Anders re-erected their barriers and leapt over the steaming darkspawn bodies, to see that most of the horde was down, their bodies laying in a grotesque array of unnatural angles and spilled entrails.

Nathaniel had his eyes on Solona, watching her every step as he sprinted up rocks with a feline grace, pacing her speed to the best of his ability. He turned quickly and in a single swift motion had an arrow drawn and fired, lodging itself perfectly centered in the eye of an emissary. Solona swung her staff, which flared with a blinding brightness as it stirred up a cyclone of power that had Anders’ hair standing on end. He felt the breath sucked out of his lungs as the air churned, drawing itself tighter and tighter around her. Her health was almost untouched, but Anders sent her another strengthening of her barrier anyway. Almost as if she had felt it, she sprinted forward again, putting more distance between herself and Anders and closing the gap before the last standing genlocks and emissaries.

Nathaniel’s arrows continued to fly, landing with deadly accuracy and picking off darkspawn one by one. Solona’s head turned sharply toward him, her face snarled with annoyance. Nathaniel was too busy to notice it, his focus absorbed in sending lethal arrow after lethal arrow, with new darkspawn dropping even before the last had hit the ground.

Anders watched in shock as she turned her spell toward the archer, throwing a quick burst of ice toward him, freezing him motionless.

Anders went numb with disbelief, unsure if he should trust that she had a plan, or try to intervene. He could easily send some fire up to Nathaniel and break him out of his icy prison. Oghren stared on from the sidelines, his armored chest still heaving with exertion. The two quietly decided to just watch, not wanting to make themselves her next target.

The darkspawn were gathered close to Solona, but she parried unhurriedly to the side as a jagged blade came down toward her. Anders instinctively raised his staff in counterattack, but repressed the urge. The cyclone she’d conjured had brought them all in deliberately, and now she seemed to slow her movements, as though she didn’t see the urgency in her situation. But despite her nonchalance, Anders could feel the pulse of power charging her staff. It was a little unbelievable how much force she was able to wield; the ground below Anders’ feet was a constant storm of vibrations, her magic reverberating deep into the earth below them even when it wasn’t being thrown into some deadly spell.

With a lazy swing of her staff she unleashed more ice, hitting every nearby darkspawn in the head with a blast of frost that coated them in white from the neck up. Their bodies continued to move, though once they’d been hit they seemed to lose organization. Erratically they stumbled, taking slow, dying steps while struggling for breath and sight. With another deliberate motion Solona began to bludgeon them each about the skull, one swing and then another, a swift, smooth, almost _gleeful_ motion. Her staff went dark as the magic faded, leaving her with only sheer physical force, as one by one she left nearly a dozen darkspawn headless. One body fell, and then another, crashing down onto the carpet of bodies already littering the ground, convulsing with the last gasps of death. Solona took her time, taking measured steps that put her at just the right distance for her staff to connect, skirting blindly thrusted blades and spears, missing them by only just enough not to get skewered herself. When the last head had been reduced to an icy cloud of dust, four ambling, decapitated bodies still remained upright, but only able to take precious few steps before crashing to the ground.

The frost weakened and Nathaniel broke free from his momentary stun. He hopped from rock to rock downward, landing silently on a bare patch of earth. His expression was a decidedly unhappy one, and his eyes grew darker as he watched Solona finish. She was disemboweling any darkspawn who continued to squirm on the ground by plunging her staffblade into their lower belly and dragging it upward until they were flayed from pelvis to sternum.

When there was no movement left among the dead, she turned to Nathaniel, her eyes wild and fierce. Anders was breathless as he watched, not daring to move any closer. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Nathaniel was the next target of her staffblade. Anders felt himself instinctively backing away. If she’d turn on her own party, then he certainly didn’t want to test her patience.

“You were stealing my kills again,” she growled to Nathaniel. She was a terrifying sight, covered from head to toe in mud and blood splatter. Her hair had broken free entirely from its ties, and wet, blackened tendrils stuck her face. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, her eyes wide pools of tar. Anders’ heart raced as he took her in. It seemed absurd that he might ever have forgotten someone so spectacularly lethal. Of course, he clearly had not seen her in action in the circle.

Nathaniel realized his bow was still in his hands, an arrow nocked and ready to pull. He seemed to exhale a shaky breath, and replaced them both on his back. He was still as he assessed her, and Anders was almost certain he detected a glint of concern in his eyes. The man was clearly either oblivious, or a fool. Any man in his right mind should be shitting his pants.

“I was _helping_ you _,”_ Nathaniel said simply. It was an explanation offered sincerely, without any challenge. “With that many darkspawn, you could easily get overwhelmed.”

Solona made a sound that could have been a laugh, if it hadn’t been so shrill and maniacal.

“You shouldn’t… I don’t _want….”_ She stopped herself, biting down on her lip. She placed her staff back on in its holster and squeezed the bridge of her nose with two bloody fingers, leaving behind a smear of red. She took a deep breath, as though trying to collect herself.

 

Without any further explanation, she turned away, heading back toward Anders and the distant roadway. Her gaze found Anders as she approached and locked on, unblinking. Anders found it impossible to break eye contact. He felt something stirring in the root of him, some upheaval in the pit of his stomach as she came close and then passed, leaving them all behind as she charged toward the road.

 


	5. Five

_Camp_. It felt like falling into a soft bed at the end of a long day. But of course the beds in camp weren’t beds, they were thin rolls of padding covering rocks and sticks and back-grinding lumps in the ground. And there was no roof to shield the party from the erratic mists of rain, but the stars blinking into existence over the distant horizon promised that the storm clouds were finally beginning to dissipate. Flames crackled as they climbed up the cone of dry branches that Nathaniel swiftly arranged; he had an inferno breathing a wash of glorious heat through the campsite before either Anders or Solona had time to offer their services in firestarting. Shortly after, he’d faded into the shadows of the forest, sure to return eventually with several hairy, already gutted bodies slung over his shoulder, needing only to be skinned before getting mounted upon the spit.

One thing that Solona could not deny: when it came to making a comfortable camp in the the wilderness, her taciturn would-be assassin was indispensable.

 

Solona stood with the bonfire to her back as she took in the impressive extent of her own filth. Darkspawn blood mixed with mud and coated her leathers in a thick, rancid paste. Dried smudges itched the skin on her cheeks, and cemented her hair into heavy ropes that whipped her in the face any time she turned her head too quickly. The filth was why she’d insisted that they camp next to the little lake Nathaniel had spotted an hour’s walk off the main path. It’d add a little extra travel time, but at least she’d be able to bathe.

With a mindless grumble she scraped the mud off her buckles and began to unlatch and loosen her leathers. Chunks of cold dirt broke free and scattered down her legs. Anders and Oghren laughed behind her, both absorbed in their own conversation. Exhaustion seeped through her bones, but although the lake water was sure to be bitterly cold, the opportunity to float alone for a while under the twilight sky was irresistible.

One by one her leathers thumped heavily to the ground, followed quickly by her stained tunic and breeches. The fire’s warmth hit the bare skin of her back once only her breastband and panties remained, the heat penetrating into the ball of tension coiled in her gut. She rolled her shoulders and felt the stiffness bleed out of her limbs. The chatter behind her quickly hushed, and she had no doubt two pairs of curious eyes were observing her from the fireside. Gathering up her pile of soiled leathers, she walked barefoot to the water’s edge, her eyes drawn into the reflection of the slowly emerging stars on the lake’s glassy sheen.

The water was warmer than she’d been expecting. With little light to see by she scrubbed her leathers clean, prying loose thick chunks of clinging mud and wiping away the polish of souring red. Slowly the stench of darkspawn receded, replaced with the fresh, mulchy scent of the forest. The sharp green pines and wilting laurel permeated the air, filling her lungs and loosening the vise around her temples that she’d been ignoring for countless tedious hours. Before her gaped a dim, welcoming expanse of space, dark sky over calm waters, the thick clouds developing a lining of radiant silver as the moon behind them rose and grew brighter.

The air still held a wet chill, but Solona didn’t mind it. The bite of cold was at least something she could _feel,_ some bit of sensation that broke through the day’s unrelenting numbness. The only highs so far had been the few battles they’d had with the darkspawn, where she’d been able to open up that angry chasm inside of her and purge some of its contents, and leaving the Keep far behind for the simplicity of the forest.

There was something deeply soothing about a landscape of craggy woods, with its own shadows and inhabitants, its own contagious silence. It cared nothing for the squabbles or dramas of people, and could be just as lethal as it was life-giving. In an existence weighed down by so much expectation and responsibility, so many eyes watching and people wanting answers and directions, it was a relief to lose herself within a wilderness that didn’t need her. It, in fact, disregarded her completely.

A quiet voice in the back of her mind kept nagging at her to apologize to Nathaniel. What she’d done with the ice earlier in the day had been dangerous. If she’d been in her rational mind she never would have put him in such a vulnerable state, regardless of how many darkspawn had been killed. But her rational mind was difficult to reach in the heat of battle lately, drowned out more and more by bloodlust and rage, sometimes resulting in mistakes and missteps, little things she’d dwell upon for hours afterward. 

She tuned into her Warden sense, scanning the woods beyond them for Nathaniel’s presence, but felt a gulf of silence, punctuated only by the two behind her, unmoving at the fireside. He had probably taken himself of out range deliberately, seeking, as she so often did, the rare respite of a quiet mind.

Ahead of her, the water beckoned. She could swim out of range herself, spend some time soaking in the lake’s calm, blessed solitude. At least until Nathaniel returned with dinner, but even then it’d take time for his catches to cook.

Eager to be immersed, she gathered up her cleaned leathers and walked them over to the fire, ignoring the awkward way Anders and Oghren were averting their eyes from her body. It was hard to believe she was anything to look at, as streaked with mud and blood as she still was in the places her leathers had been soaked to the skin. Even cleaned up she didn’t really feel like a beauty, or anyone who’d normally draw an admiring eye. Only Alistair had ever made her feel pretty, and since he was gone she cared less about her appearance than ever.

Anders took a long drink from a glass bottle, its contents glimmering a golden caramel in the firelight. After her leathers were carefully arranged on a rock beside the fire to dry, she walked up to him, a deep thirst drawing her toward the bottle.

“May I?” she asked gently, resolving to share her own once she returned to camp. Anders cleared his throat and handed it over. She found it vaguely amusing how he didn’t seem to know where to put his eyes. They landed on her legs, her stomach, her hands, flitting from place to place like a bird unable to choose a perch, and then falling down to his feet where he cleared his throat again. Solona almost told him to knock it off. The awkwardness seemed completely unnecessary, especially if he didn’t really consider her a _lady_ anyway. Instead of bothering, she gulped down two long swigs, letting the liquid fire scorch its way into her stomach. From there the numbness spread upward, churning out warm tendrils that wound pleasantly toward her head. She took one last drink and handed the bottle back before turning and walking out of camp and back to the water’s edge.

As the day had progressed, the mystery of the night before appeared more and more inconsequential. For a little while, a few of the flashes of memory stuck in her mind with enough clarity to fan the flames of her suspicions, but as the day had dragged on those images grew increasingly scattered, leaving only a jumble of confusing sensations and impressions that she couldn’t reconcile. Eventually she grew weary of the whole thing and decided not to dwell on it, especially since the prospect of asking Anders anything outright was a little too humiliating to bear. The only reasonable option was to either file it away as unknowable, or wait for more information. If it had really happened, then the likelihood was good that Anders might say something to her about it on his own. If he didn’t, then it probably really was just a frustrating dream.

 

The water felt like icy satin on Solona’s bare feet, sending a tremor of shivers up her body as she moved further into the depths. Once the water reached her thighs she dove in completely, letting the shock of cold peak and then subside all at once. It penetrated deep into her bones, blotting out awareness of anything but refreshing, cleansing darkness. She came up for air and began to kick herself toward the center of the lake, pushing further away from the awareness of the other two Wardens. The liquor in her system seemed to be aiding her temperature regulation, and within moments she only felt the cold of the water distantly, replaced by a numb contentedness. Once she’d lost the ground with her toes, she dove under and scrubbed at her hair and scalp with her fingertips, clawing and rubbing at the plaster of filth.

Finally, she rolled onto her back and gazed up into the heavens, half of it now dotted with a tapestry of winking stars, each staring back down at her like a sea of tiny eyes.

If there was anything left to love in the world, it was a clear night’s sky.

It was the stars that had drawn her to the rooftop in the Keep that she’d begun to frequent in the first place. She’d lay on her back and let the night fill the entirety of her vision, hoping it might make her to feel closer to the Maker, and consequently, to Alistair. That is, if he was truly up there at the Maker’s side as the Chantry always promised.

The thought of him watching her from the heavens was alternately comforting and something she struggled to come to terms with. It was impossible to imagine how he might feel about their situation now if he was there. They’d made the pact to die together but it had taken quite a while for him to agree to it. For so long he kept insisting that he’d take on the Archdemon alone, that she should survive without him, at least unless the Maker intervened. And she’d always argued that she’d rather it be her if it absolutely _had_ to be one of them. The prospect of life without Alistair was as unthinkable then as it was unlivable now.

But there had naturally been moments that she’d wondered if this had secretly been his real plan. Had he only been humoring her that whole time? Had he never intended to let her die by his side as she’d insisted? And would that mean that now he was up there disapproving of her behavior, cursing her for throwing herself into harm’s way again and again?

Maybe he was hoping she’d move on with her life. That she might try to find happiness again instead of doing whatever she could to return to him, as impossible as that seemed.

But he loved her, that was not a question. He’d sworn to be hers for eternity. Why shouldn’t that eternity be allowed to start as quickly as possible?

 

Then there was always the possibility that he wasn’t watching at all. That he’d moved on himself, and was too busy exploring the mysteries of the afterlife to bother with much else. Or that, despite the Chantry’s claim, the end was simply that. _The end._ Maybe there would be no reuniting. Ever.

But regardless of which was the truth, it didn’t really matter. Life held little to interest her now. She’d done her part for Thedas, and she’d been rewarded by having the love of her life stripped away from her. At best, she could only claim to be going through the motions.

 

Solona let her eyes blur, and the glow of stars faded into a milky darkness. It was taking _so long._ Why was it that when someone made up their mind that that they wanted to die, death seemed determined to outrun them?

She could hear Alistair arguing that it was because the Maker had other plans for her. That she might think that she didn’t need the world, but the world still needed _her._

She could only vehemently reject that notion. Hadn’t she done enough? Was there no one else who could take up the mantle of world’s savior? This was _her_ life, it should be _her_ choice.

And even _that_ was already so limited already, by her own regard for Alistair’s opinion, by her conscience. She wanted out of this lonely existence, but certainly couldn’t lead the other Wardens into a situation that would take them all down with her. And she always faltered in those few times she’d sat with a blade out, teasing its edge at the thin skin of her wrists. She’d yet to be able to take the step off the roof, or walk into the thrusting spear of a darkspawn. Such blatant forms of suicide were a sin in the eyes of the Maker. Might the Maker find such actions so deplorable that he would keep her from entering his gates? That she might doom herself to an afterlife as barren and devoid of joy as this one?

Even if the Maker _did_ have mercy, in the back of her mind was always that little whisper. Alistair’s voice in her head, as well as her own voice, as much as she tried to suppress its constant chiding. It harped upon her how such a death was cowardly. That she should at least go out the way Grey Wardens always had through all the annals of time: in battle, ridding Thedas of darkspawn.

 

 _Fucking_ Alistair! That brave, beautiful fool! It was his fault anyway that she had to resort to this now.

 

Or maybe… maybe her surviving the Archdemon was merely a fluke. A stroke of bad luck. The sadistic plan of the blighted Maker himself.

Maybe Alistair really was up there somewhere, longing for her as fiercely as she was him.

 

Like so much else, it was impossible to know. And constantly repeating the same circles in her mind was wearying.

 

Solona exhaled all the air from her lungs and allowed herself to sink down into the depths of the lake. She was out far enough that the tickle of the other Wardens was gone, and the water was too deep for her to touch the bottom. The chill of the lake had begun to grow in intensity the further toward the center she’d gotten, but she wasn’t ready to give up the solitude yet. Water roared softly in her ears as she floated, weightless, suspended in an abyss of liquid black. If she had to guess, it was the same as what it must feel like to be dead. No up, no down, no light or warmth. She let her limbs fall motionless and quieted her mind, becoming one with the lake and the night.

It took only a minute or two before her lungs began to clench with the need for air. Her chest burned as her heartbeat started throbbing in her ears.

No, there would be no pain, no heartbeat if she were dead.

 

She broke the surface again without trying, her body bobbing sideways up into the brisk air. She took a deep breath and turned to begin to swim, throwing one arm over her head and then the other. Slowly she built up speed, propelling herself into kicking and pulling, cupping her hands and synchronizing her breaths. Swimming was tedious, repetitive work, but she found a rhythm and kept to it, not even sure where she thought she was going. She let herself move mindlessly, a mote of insignificant dust in an endless sky.

Until the tickle reappeared. Solona felt it growing clearer as she made her way through the darkness, and came to a stop once she locked onto its exact location. She bobbed in place, blinking out at the shadow of dark shoreline. Far behind her flickered the tiny orange glow of the campfire. It couldn’t have been a single darkspawn standing stationary in the woods. It could only have been Nathaniel.

She turned toward her sense of him, figuring now was as good a time as any for an apology. Stroke after stroke her muscles worked, pushing her closer to the thick shadow of the trees. When finally her toes bumped against a soft ground she slowed, scanning the waterline in his direction. Deep in the shadows, she located the figure of a man.

“Hello?” he called toward her, breaking the night’s silence. “Who is there?"

“It’s just me,” she answered tiredly as she made her way closer. “Solona.”  
Frosty air settled over each inch of exposed skin, making the water feel warm in comparison. After emerging up to her waist, she shivered and lowered herself back down, slipping under until the lake’s surface lapped at her neck.

“You’re awfully far from camp,” he observed.

His boots crunched lightly over the gravelly shoreline as he made his way toward the water’s edge. Solona scanned the shoreline for any rocks or obstacles at the water’s side, feeling torn between rising again and approaching him fully, and keeping her distance. The darkness obscured his face completely, offering safety from his penetrating gaze. The way he looked at her often sent a chill down to her core, and she was already cold enough.

But there was no denying his voice was oddly pleasant, a fact which made itself starkly clear in the absence of his distracting appearance. Smooth and smoky, it was the sort of voice that she’d normally have loved to just close her eyes and listen to, had it not belonged to someone who hated her.

“I know,” she said. The gulf of space between them made her words feel uncomfortably small and muted. She rose reluctantly from the water and resumed a slow approach, trying not to kick up much water with each labored step.

Nathaniel laughed quietly, his head nodding as it followed his gaze up and down.

“What is it that you have against clothes, exactly? Do you enjoy freezing?”

Solona shrugged.

“If I tried to swim in my leathers I would drown.” As soon as she said it, she wished she _had_ bathed in her leathers.

“I am surprised that stopped you.”

Solona looked him over, taking in what details she could in the lack of light. The air was scented with blood, but not the tainted kind. On a nearby rock laid the dark forms of his kills, freshly gutted by the smell of it. Nathaniel crouched down toward the water and began to scrub his hands clean. In one hand was a curved dagger. Solona felt oddly enchanted by his silhouette. He moved within the darkness comfortably, each step he took sure and silent. Had she not been following his shadow, or felt the taint on him, she might not have known he was there at all.

“Well, speaking of freezing,” she said, “I wanted to apologize for earlier. I don’t make a habit of using magic against my own team.”

_Or at least I never have before._

“It was dangerous,” she continued. “I… I don’t know why I did it.”

Nathaniel snorted. He finished washing his hands and stood, taking a quiet step toward her. The toe of his boot rippled the water.

“You do know. We all know.” He said. “You aren’t fooling anyone.” He continued to come closer, until he paused only feet away. His breath caressed her body in cool waves.

She tilted her head, not entirely sure which part he was referring to. Irritation rose up her spine. He laughed quietly again.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I know you have… _reasons.”_

Solona shifted on her feet, feeling little rocks biting into her bare soles. She stifled a shiver as her face condensed into a scowl.

“What could you possibly know about my reasons?” she asked. She recalled the Deep Roads again, the way he’d looked at her when she’d told him to ask his questions. He hadn’t. At the time he’d said nothing, but she felt… _something._ Something like… understanding? Now, however, the very idea seemed absurd. Anything he thought he knew were only assumptions, and probably wildly wrong ones at that.

Nathaniel was quiet and still, but she could feel his eyes. Those piercing, glacial eyes.

“My apologies, my lady,” he said more softly, “I am not trying to anger you again. I was not trying to anger you earlier. I really was just trying to help. Perhaps you could not see the numbers before you as I did from my height. I worry that you--”

“Please do not presume that I need your help. Or that you know anything about me, Nathaniel,” she interjected. “Besides, I would have expected that you’d be glad to be rid of your unwelcome squatter.”

She waited quietly, but he said nothing. Something unnameable was growing inside her, something that ached to lash out at whatever target dared to present itself.

“Why not turn your attention elsewhere? Let me get overwhelmed. If a darkspawn succeeds at last then that’s all the better for you isn’t it?”

Still he remained silent and motionless. The air around them grew heavier.

“No,” he said and swallowed. “The Keep was occupied by Garavel’s soldiers even before you arrived. If I blamed you for that before, then that blame was… misplaced.”

“Still,” Solona breathed. Her heart was pounding, though she wasn’t sure why. Her mind went back to the Deep Roads again, to the moment she was sure he was going to stick his dagger in her back. Her eyes fell down to his hand, the hand that had been holding the very same dagger only moments before. It was empty. His blade had been sheathed.

“Still what?” he asked.

“The blame for your father’s murder wasn’t misplaced. Though it’s hardly murder in my view. I would do it again. I would do it a hundred more times. That was _justice._ ”

She waited, breathless, watching him for any signs that she was striking a nerve. She wasn’t even sure why she was trying. This was not what she had planned when she began swimming in his direction. She’d meant only to apologize, to make sure there weren’t any hard feelings, at least over that particular incident.

“I know that is the common opinion,” he said.

“So?” she demanded, the wild thing inside her spurring her on. “So, wouldn’t that be the easiest revenge? All you’d need to do is turn away, right? You don’t need to chase me down in the Deep Roads, or pick off the darkspawn who charge me. Just let nature take its bloody course, right? Problem solved.”

Nathaniel snorted, the shape of him unmoving in the darkness.

“Or,” she continued, clenching her haw to stop her teeth from chattering. “We’re far enough away from the others. You could take out your dagger again. Tell the others that a bear got me. Or a wolf. Or something else. They’d never know the truth.” She took a step closer. “If you want your revenge, now is your chance.”

Nathaniel was silent, but she could hear his jagged breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

He reached for a buckle on his chest and her heart jumped into her throat, a rush of adrenaline opening up her veins. But it was wrong, that’s not where he kept his dagger. She watched him, confused for a long minute as he unbuckled the leathers around his chest, took the pieces off his arms and shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m giving you my blighted tunic, since you insist on standing here and shivering like a damn _fool.”_

Solona snorted. “ _Your tunic?_ Like you gave me your coat?” She snapped open her hand and unleashed a ball of fire. Nathaniel, the woods and the water all burst into a vivid orange as the ball rose into the air, cutting black, flickering figures into the shadows behind them. “You know I command fire, right?”

“And how is that going to help you right now? Are you going to set yourself on fire? Why haven’t you done that already if you’re so eager to die?” A piece of his armor hit the ground, followed by another. He pulled the tails of the linen tunic free from his breeches. “I want my coat back, by the way.”

The fireball fizzled away into the air overhead.

Nathaniel pulled his tunic over his head, and thumped the wad of fabric against her sternum, holding it there insistently. Fragrant heat radiated off the linen and his bare chest. She reached up to pry his hand away, grabbing onto the smooth muscle of his forearm, but paused. Something like a sob was building quickly in her throat. Her need to fight was deflating, and she suddenly felt very tired. Everything about this had gone incorrectly, feeding into the permanent well of sadness in her gut. She couldn’t even apologize correctly.

“Take your revenge, Nathaniel,” she pleaded.

“No,” he said. His second hand rose to her face. She flinched instinctively, until the pad of his thumb skimmed her cheek. Its gentleness was a devastating blow, killing the last vestiges of that wild thing inside her.

“That is not what I desire now.”

A long moment stretched between them. Solona was certain he could probably hear her racing heartbeat. She was used to riding the unpredictable and tumultuous waves of her emotions, but usually she could keep it all locked up, let it rage quietly inside her while those nearby were left blissfully unaware. A confusion of words were perched in her throat. She needed to apologize again, she needed to just swim back to camp and forget all about this, she needed to brush it off and pretend like it was nothing, like she was just testing him. She needed to cry. She needed to run. She needed to explain.

 

His body went stiff, turning toward the trees at their rear and then freezing. It was what he normally did when he heard something the others didn’t. Solona’s mind quieted as she tried to tune into him, and then into the forest around them. She didn’t feel any darkspawn. She didn’t hear any footsteps, or the rustling of leaves. She only became aware of her hand still resting on his skin, his forearm impossibly warm and solid. For some reason she’d always imagined that if she’d touched him he’d be cold, as cold as his icy blue eyes and like his steely silence. But his arm under her touch, his tunic against her chest was blazing with a vital, invigorating heat.

 

She heard the low, menacing growl only a second before she felt herself jerked through space. Where once she’d been before Nathaniel, she now was behind him, the move completed in a whir of breath and force. On her right came a second growl, and somewhere beside that a third. She called up a fireball again, sending it out to illuminate their predicament. It revealed the shine of at least four pairs of eyes on all sides of them, low to the ground and connected to a pack of massive, furry bodies. The light also reminded her that she was once again mostly naked, and Nathaniel now lacking the protection of his own gear from the waist up. His bow was laid beside a rock at the water’s edge where he’d been cleaning his catch. Even the belt that held his dagger was gone, laying in the pile of his leathers several steps away.

“ _Fuck,”_ Nathaniel breathed.

 


	6. Six

“Don’t let them get you on the ground,” Nathaniel whispered over his shoulder. “If they do, you are done. Stay on your feet no matter how hard they pull.”

Solona suddenly felt blind in the dark. Nathaniel’s height obscured what little there was to see before them, and even standing on the tips of her toes to peer over his shoulder revealed nothing.

“Let me get in front of you,” she responded.

The menacing growls were growing louder and Solona knew there was only seconds before their attack. She’d faced wolves many times before and they rarely gave such a warning, at least not until they knew they already had you cornered. At least these ones wouldn’t be a bunch of blighted werewolves.

Solona felt a full well of mana tingling at her palms, the leaden exhaustion of her swim quickly fading away. The familiar, cold-water rush of adrenaline filled her veins, coiling her muscles into springs.

“Nathaniel!” she hissed impatiently. “Let me in front of you!”

He lowered the arm that he’d stretched behind him in order to rail her in, allowing her to step around him. She searched the dark to locate a target, ready to release an instant barrage of ice at the first sign of movement.

She didn’t hear the first wolf launch himself through the air. The jarring impact of its body felt like the ground had come up to meet her; a solid wall of force slamming silently onto her chest and shoulder. Without even a moment to recover her breath, a second wall hit from the other side, breaking the momentum of her falling body with a sickening lurch. The second impact pushed her into a new trajectory that allowed her to fall back into her footing. The upended earth became upright again, though a chaos of sound and sensation exploded into violence around her. Her chest radiated pain as she wheezed to recapture a breath, each inhalation stinging. At her rear, Nathaniel yelped.

It took a long moment to register the razor sharp fangs ripping into her arm. The pain was clouded out by the roaring adrenaline, with only force and pressure immediately apparent. Remembering Nathaniel’s warning, she let herself stumble in the direction the wolf was attempting to drag her, not allowing any resistance to aid in toppling her over. There was no question that Nathaniel was correct: once she was on the ground, those fangs would find her jugular and crush her throat in an instant. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to find her focus. Calling up a flare of shock, Solona pushed a deluge of electricity directly into the powerful jaws clamped around her forearm.

The flashing purple light revealed a nightmarish scene. Not four giant bodies, but five, one staring up at her with black, bloodthirsty eyes and bared teeth. The second beast pranced around her, seeming to be carefully calculating his strike. Behind her a cacophony of grunts and growls, Nathaniel and the two wolves upon him jumbled together in a struggling mountain of twisting, writhing forms.

Another stunning blow hit from her other side as the second wolf made his decision and rejoined the fray. A scream ripped harshly from Solona’s throat, piercing through the din and filling her head. Fangs skewered into her thigh as the wolf jerked toward the ground, adding the weight of his body to her own. He must have realized he needed to get a grip a bit higher, and released her, his body winding up to jump again. Solona relaxed the stream of electricity, relieved to hear the loud thump as the body of the first wolf hit the ground. She reeled around and blindly released a flurry of ice, hitting the second wolf mid-jump. Its frozen weight had already launched and crashed into her, knocking her back even as the frost immediately began to crunch apart. The scrapes of movement made it clear she hadn’t hit him full on, giving her only a few seconds to think.

Solona scrambled back to her feet, her chest searing with loss of breath. The bulky shape in the darkness before her leapt back to its feet and grew larger as it made a new, swift approach. Panic scorched nauseatingly up her throat as she unleashed a wild attack of flame at the shadow before her, immediately filling the air with the scent of burning fur and meat. The wolf staggered for several steps and let out a heartrending screech, allowing Solona to take a shaky breath. His movements slowed, his body finally beginning to droop as he cooked.

Shakily, Solona looked toward Nathaniel, the dying flames revealing only a flash of bare chest streaked with red. A large beast was attached to his wrist, head twisting and yanking violently while Nathaniel batted behind him at a second attacking wolf. To her right, in the trees, another growl. She heard it for only a moment before the attack came, this time with claws. The wolf was on his hind legs, trying to come down on top of her. In the soft flesh of his belly Solona buried multiple shards of ice, but not before the animal’s weight landed, bringing her down beneath it. Bursts of white filled her vision as her head bounced off the ground.

The wolf smelled of carrion, his impossibly heavy body smothering her chest and arms. For a moment the world spun while a dizzying chorus of scraping feet and growls faded in and out, foggy and distant. In her ears, her heart lubbed.

Slowly, some sliver of her mind fought through the haze. Her senses were assaulted by extremes, the cold peace of encroaching oblivion giving way to the hot weight of death crushing her under a rancid carpet of matted fur. A quiet voice reminded her she wasn’t alone; that without her help there would be two Wardens taken to their death, not just her one. Fighting back to reality, Solona began to rock and twist her body, trying to loosen her throbbing arms and position them to push. Pain sliced white-hot through her nerves as mangled bones and flesh screamed with the effort. Somehow she emerged, a leg first freeing itself and then digging into the ground, aiding her arms in the last few pushes. Taking a desperate gulp of the night air, Solona clamored to her feet, facing the wall of motion that was Nathaniel and his attackers.

She launched a fireball at what she could only hope was the feet of a wolf, but the flames revealed a jumble of limbs, pushing and pulling erratically, and Nathaniel walked right into the path of the fire. A new surge of panic climbed into her throat as she rushed to cancel out the flames with a flurry of ice. But the tangle of bodies changed course again, and her ice clattered ineffectually to the ground.

This time her fire was used only for light, sent again into the air while Solona locked onto a piece of Nathaniel and tracked his movements. The wolves were large enough to completely obscure him at times, or so she thought before the light had fizzled away completely, the scene of violence plunged back into raucous darkness.

Solona frantically searched her mind for options. Electric shock would travel through the wolves and straight into Nathaniel, making it not even worth considering. Even flames and ice could easily miss and hit the wrong target, as they nearly had already. With the size of the wolves it shouldn’t have been difficult to hit them, but their movements were so swift and erratic, and time was running out.

The next ball of fire illuminated exactly what her eyes sought: Nathaniel’s belt, lying in pile by the water. Before the light could dissipate she sprinted to it, hampered by the searing pain in her thigh, and a dull, sickly throb in her injured arm. She nearly stumbled over a pile of his leathers as the darkness resettled. Gritting her teeth, she located the hilt of the dagger within the belt’s sheath, and stood again to face Nathaniel. His movements had slowed, the wall of shadow appearing smaller now as he began to droop. Solona’s heart jumped into her throat. She rushed to action before even she knew what her plan was, and suddenly she was on top of them, one hand searching out an expanse of fur, the other plunging the blade, again and again. Metal glanced off bone and rattled up her arm. Warm splatter hit her face and drenched her chest. Shrill whines and yelps confirmed she’d met the right target, and as the body fell away she vaguely made out the crumpled form of Nathaniel, not fully on the ground, but listing dangerously.

Finally, as though the Maker himself was aiding them, a cloud moved and the moon emerged, casting just enough light for her to find the final wolf body in the tangle of writhing shadow. Not caring where the blade landed, she continued to stab, throwing what muscle she could muster into each thrust. The wolf twisted in midair, pulling back and attempting to redirect his attack. Panicking, Solona redoubled her efforts, flailing the blade before her, urgently trying to connect with any surface on its body before it was able to regain its stance.

Solona held her breath and braced for impact. A quiet voice in the back of her mind wondered if the breath might be her last.

 

No advancing body arrived to knock her off her feet. No new set of fangs crunched down upon her flesh. The blueish white stars at the edges of her vision ebbed away, and leaving a dim image of a bloodstained figure with a mangled forearm hanging limp and useless. Nathaniel dropped to his knees and hung there for a breathless second before toppling forward. Five bulky masses lay scattered before the waterline, one convulsing quietly before falling limp.

 

And then, a roaring silence.

 

The wet dagger in Solona’s hand was covered in clumps of matted fur. The blood streaming down her own body had warmed her for a moment, but was now cooling in the night air, issuing ghostly mists of steam into the night. Her own arm wasn’t responding correctly, but the pain felt separate from her somehow, strangely nebulous and disassociated. Only the hammer of her heart in her ears, the dying stream of adrenaline in her blood felt real. She blinked at the darkness, her mind empty and frozen.

Until Nathaniel groaned.

Dropping the dagger she stumbled forward to him, only barely making out his features before the heat of his body was under her hands. His torso rose and dropped rapidly, his back and arms sticky with blood.

“Nathaniel?” she asked. She barely heard herself over her the ringing in her ears.

She sat up straight, scanning the dim shoreline again for his belt. She’d stopped carrying health potions right after Alistair died, but Nathaniel should have some. Somewhere along the waterline should be his tonic pouch, and hopefully, a full supply. Solona scrambled to a stand, her body still responding slower than she expected it to. She swayed on shaky legs and was instantly slammed by a wave of agonizing pain. Her thigh screamed with fire, her arm throbbing and growing heavier with each labored breath.

Hissing through clenched teeth, she forced herself to take a step. _One foot in front of the other, it can’t be far._

The corpses of the wolves were still steaming in the pale moonlight. Solona gaped down at the ground, for a moment feeling off-kilter and forgetting what was she was looking for. Shock was setting in, wanting to bring with it that beautifully cold oblivion again. The scrape of Nathaniel’s movement broke through.

It felt like an eternity before she finally located his belt again. She dropped her knees, hearing her own voice tear from her throat as the impact sent shattering waves of pain out from the wound in her thigh.

Her fingers felt thick and numb as they slipped along the little hooks and pouches of his belt. Finally she located an especially large pouch, but a thick layer of dirt stuck to a coating of sticky wetness.

Liquid dripped from the pouch’s corners, and even before she lifted the flap she heard the grind and crunch of broken glass.

“ _Shit!”_ she hissed. Her stomach wound itself into a tight ball.

She needed no light to know that most of his potions had shattered. Someone had clearly trampled all over his belt in their struggle. It might even have been her, in her haste to locate his dagger. And something in the pack smelled noxious.

“Damn it Nathaniel!”

She pulled herself back up and dragged herself back toward him.

“What?” he rasped, coughing.

The sound of his voice released a little of the tension she carried. She dropped back to his side.

“You keep your poisons in the same pouch as your potions?” she asked.

He grunted with the effort of trying to push himself upright. She set down the pouch and grabbed his arm, trying to keep him steady. Tremors traveled through her body as the cold pentrated deeper.

“Of course not!” He sounded incredulous, even a little offended. Somehow that came as a relief.

She sent up another fireball, readying herself to take in as much detail as she could while the light remained. The orange wash revealed a macerated hand cradled in his lap, an open wound on his side and at least three parallel scrapes down his arm. More could be hiding under all the blood, but those stood out darker against all the red.

The belt before her had a second large pouch on its other end, it too shiny with wetness and gritty with dirt. Her own arm streamed blood from multiple deep holes, but had not been mangled like Nathaniel’s had. She clenched her teeth through the pain and turned the belt quickly, tearing open the flap to use the last glow of light to peer inside.

There too the potions were little more than a stew of broken glass, but one vial still held a stopper, appearing to be intact. She grabbed it as gently as she could manage and pulled slowly, wincing as it scraped against a clutter of shards. Only a second after it had been freed, the glass collapsed within her fingers, buckling into itself like the shell of a crushed egg. Slow drips of potion seeped down her palm and directly toward the wound at her forearm. She jerked to catch the crumbling vial, cupping her good hand and containing what she could of its escaping contents.

The moment the potion touched her ripped flesh it began to burn, blooming an agonizing fire out from her wound and up her arm. Solona let out an involuntary wail and struggled to remain in place as the burning spread, trying not to further upset the leaking pouch.

Solona gritted her teeth and balled her good hand into a fist. A feral growl ripped from her throat.

When the burn began to fade, so did the pain. She waited, assuming the numbness that was replacing the burn must have only been the shock of relief. After several shaky breaths she realized that the numbness was persisting. Confused, she flexed her fingers, expecting the sting of injury, but felt almost nothing.

Another fireball revealed what could only have been the truth: a clean, intact forearm, the flesh healed where the potion had made direct contact with the wound.

She peered down into the pouch again. The potion there was riddled with shards of glass, and was decreasing in volume with each drip lost from the seams.

An idea pushed its way to the front of her mind. Solona set the pouch down carefully and stood again, ignoring the dizziness that followed and rushing over to where Nathaniel’s leathers lay. She gathered them up, and realizing she needed to get a more constant source of light, kicked around until her foot connected with a fallen branch from a nearby tree.

Dragging both back to Nathaniel she resettled herself beside him. Taking a deep sip of mana, she directed a plume of fire at the branch until all the moisture clinging to the bark fizzed away. A second or two after, the wood finally held a small flame. She positioned it beside them, and after carefully assessing the leathers jumbled in her lap she located the two things she figured would be useful: the linen tunic and a piece of Nathaniel’s shoulder armor. The shoulder piece had the vague shape of a shallow bowl, and with her breath in her throat she emptied the drippings of the broken vial out of her palm into it. It trembled as she began to shiver, but the potion stayed contained. Carefully, she positioned it under the dripping pouch, letting the rounded leather collect the last drips of potion.

While she waited, she tried to assess Nathaniel. His face was ghostly pale, but his eyes were open. He was hunched forward, his body wracked by waves of shudders as he cradled his mangled arm. She gazed with wonder at her own healed wound. Something still ached deep inside, but the flesh outside was smooth, looking as though it had never endured the murderous tugging of a wolf. How had she never known that she could pour their potion directly into a wound? She, like everyone, just took for granted that it was something that could only be consumed.

If she collected enough, Nathaniel could drink it, though he’d be risking drinking tiny pieces of glass. But, presumably, any damage resulting from those would be healed as well.

She waited tensely as the droplets grew slower and smaller, almost afraid to breathe lest she blow away a precious drip of health.

If there wasn’t enough for him to drink, she could just apply what they had directly to his wounds. It might not fix everything, but it would at least be _something._ There was certainly not going to be any getting him back to Anders in his present state. Drinking less than a full dose might close the superficial cuts, but would leave the worst wounds open. Even a full dose would do that if the wounds were bad enough. That didn’t seem like a good option at all.

And she couldn’t very well leave him here alone while she went for help. What if there were more wolves out there? Or darkspawn, bears, some of Thedas’ other, more nefarious inhabitants, any of whom could be drawn to the scent of all the blood? Left here with no way he could shoot an arrow, he’d be helpless. Even if he could wield his dagger with his uninjured hand, they’d have to practically be on top of him before it did him any good.

Solona, however, even without clothing or a staff, was a living, walking weapon.

It was pretty clear the only option was to stay together until they both made it back to camp.

 

Solona shivered as the cold intensified over her bare skin. The breeze coming off the water hit the wet spatter on her stomach and back, raising her hair on end. A new awareness of her body reminded her that it wasn’t just her arm that had been injured. She too had random cuts and scratches, plus a deep bite on her thigh.

The pouch stopped dripping. The collected potion was less than what would fill a vial by almost half. Solona sighed.

“Did you see this?” she asked Nathaniel, holding up her newly healed arm. He turned his head weakly and nodded. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.

“There’s not enough for you to drink. But we need to do something.”

Without waiting for him to answer, Solona scooted closer. She wadded up the linen and began wiping away the blood on his torso, searching her mind for any anatomical knowledge she retained from her studies in the circle. Body and head wounds had the greatest chance of being life threatening, while wounds to his extremities, as long as they weren’t near an artery, could often wait for treatment if they were bandaged well enough. But he’d need to be able to walk. Having swam the entirety of the way out here, and most of it completely lost in thought, she had no way to know exactly how far they were. But that campfire had sure seemed small the last time she’d caught a glimpse of it.

Nathaniel winced, cringing as the linen swiped over a deep gash in his chest. Solona slowed her movements, cautiously dabbing, careful not to cause any unnecessary pain. It was difficult to gauge its true seriousness in the paltry glow of light coming off the nearby branch, but the urgency of the situation demanded she focus.

Solona dipped a finger in the potion and dripped fat droplets into the wound. Nathaniel tensed, letting out a harsh groan. She waited, giving him a moment to adjust to the burn before continuing. She worked quietly, applying potion in gradually increasing amounts until she saw the bloodflow slowing and flesh begin to mend.

Nathaniel’s body was glowing with heat, and for the long minutes that Solona focused, she forgot about the cold at her back. Passing over the shallower looking cuts, Solona went straight to the more serious looking gashes on his torso, trying to adopt a clinical air and ignore the glaring intimacy of the task. Solona heard every jagged hiss and inhalation as she touched him. His skin shone in the orange firelight, cutting dark shadows into the detail of his body that undulated as he tensed with pain. She felt her way along his body and wiped the blood from all the shadowy places with the linen, finding herself surprised at his considerable musculature. She’d never cared to imagine what he looked like under his leathers, but she’d never have guessed that an archer’s activities would build so much obvious strength. His chest rose and fell as his breathing intensified, drawing attention to his toned breadth, and the light coating of hair that tapered down to a line below his navel. Yet he wasn’t bulky like Alistair was. Nor lanky and sinewy like Anders. She fought not to get distracted. It had been so long since Solona had spent time in such close proximity to a bare-chested man. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised at what kind of effect it would have on her senses.

When the worst of the body wounds had been tended to, she sat back and rubbed the ache out of her own neck while considering what was left. She had her own leg to mend, and there was still the matter of Nathaniel’s mangled hand. Despite the extent of the injury, the fact that it was merely a hand and wrist had necessarily placed it at a lower priority than his body wounds, but she couldn’t let it go completely untreated. The pain alone would hinder their movement, and it couldn’t just be left to bleed.

 

Nathaniel watched her quietly with dark eyes. He was sitting a little taller and his breathing had regulated again, but the wave of shivers continued to rock through him. She sighed, her own breath coming more easily now that he seemed to be stabilized somewhat. But still, the need to get him to Anders as soon as possible persisted.

With a quick precision, she saw to her own leg, dripping potion into only the deepest, most painful sections of her bite wound. The deeper the potion penetrated, the more unbearable the burn, growing in intensity until she couldn’t seem to control her own movements. She writhed in place, digging her fingertips into the dirt as fire clawed deep into her thigh muscle, radiating up into her hip and down through her knee. Her very bones seemed to throb. She heard herself whimper and hiss, and set aside the armor piece that held the potion as gently as she could manage so she could rock her body to release each wave of pain. When finally it began to pass, she felt Nathaniel’s hand on her leg, his thumb massaging reassuringly.

He pulled his hand back quickly as she met his eyes again, their depths merging with the shadows cast upon his face. His skin was as pale as bone, his sharp features and black hair carving a dramatic figure out of the darkness. It seemed unbelievable that he’d somehow endured pain even worse on his torso.

Solona sighed as the numbness took over again. She forced herself to relax, working her way from her shoulders, down to her curled toes. When it was done, she considered his mangled hand.

“Any ideas?” she asked him, nodding to it. It was difficult to look at directly, his fingers bent in wrong directions, with the white shine of bone peeking through crimson pulp and viscera.

Nathaniel shook his head. The trauma of his attack was still apparent, rendering him dazed and mute.

Her chest swelled with an unexpected urge to comfort him. Surely it wasn’t the first time he’d been attacked, but it might have been the first time he’d endured multiple attackers while completely unable to defend himself. Such danger and vulnerability had to have shaken him deeply. She’d been in a few fights that had a similar effect. It was never pleasant to stare death in the eyes, even for one who actually wanted to.

As she sat she began to formulate her own idea for his hand. She needed to find a way to distribute the potion over a larger surface area than she’d dealt with yet, as dripping it would likely use up the last of the potion before she could cover much space. And she wasn’t sure she could stomach looking down into such a gory sight for long anyhow.

She grabbed up the linen and limped down to the waterside, each step reminding her that she was in only her underwear and breastband, without even boots to protect her feet. It would be a long, cold, difficult journey through the forest back to camp. As she sat before the expanse of glassy water, she whispered a quiet prayer that camp might actually much closer than it had appeared. But even as she finished, she knew it was pointless. The Maker only ever hampered her plans. Never had he actually seemed to help her. That is _if_ there even was a Maker up there at all.

No, like with so many things, Solona was entirely on her own.

Mindlessly she plunged the linen into the cold water, swishing it around and washing away the blood and dirt that stuck to the fabric.

It took forever to wring out. The stiff folds gripped together and resisted her directions, feeling heavy in her hands no matter how hard she coiled it. Precious second ticked by as she fought to squeeze out every last drop of moisture. By the time she’d made her way back to the dying fire, the flames had crawled up to a slender portion of branch and were on the verge of disappearing completely. Solona grabbed up a few nearby sticks and pulled them into a pile, igniting them with a bright stream of fire.

Finally, she situated the tunic so that she could gather it up just right, folding and measuring lengths and width, and dunked a wad of it into the potion, waiting until it appeared that every drop had been absorbed.

She gestured to his mangled hand, and he visibly tensed.

“I don’t know how much this will do, but hopefully it will help some. It needs to be wrapped anyway. Preferably tightly, so we can stop the loss of blood.”

“ _Fucking fuck,_ ” Nathaniel groaned.

 

A quiet, unexpected laugh bubbled up from Solona’s throat. For whatever reason, that was the last thing she’d expected to hear. Nathaniel looked up at her, seeming startled. Solona cleared her throat.

“Do you want a stick to bite down on or something? This is… well, not going to be pleasant, I’m sure.”

Nathaniel looked around them and nodded. Using his good hand, he scooted back and settled himself against a nearby tree. He was removing himself from the light, but Solona followed him without complaint. She could hardly fathom the pain he was going feel, both at the application of the potion upon such a horrific injury, and the pressure of having the linen tied tightly around it. Whatever he needed to do to increase his comfort would help Solona feel better about the whole thing, too.

“Just do it quickly,” he said finally.

Solona took a breath and unraveled the tunic, finding the large blot of potion in the center. Nathaniel bit down on a stick and rested his head back against the trunk of the tree before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He held his arm out toward her, groaning as his forearm muscle shifted and pulled at his wound flesh.

In a swift move, Solona threw the potion stained portion over the bloody tangle of hand and smoothed the fabric down. Nathaniel’s legs tensed, an almost inhuman growl rumbling up from deep in his throat. She folded the fabric over and around, situating it so that she could wind two tails on opposite ends, and then, moving each toward the other, she began to wrap them around him tightly, turning the tails into a makeshift tourniquet. Nathaniel convulsed and howled, his boots kicking into dirt into her lap. She steeled her back and kept moving, pulling tight until only enough length was left on each tail to tie. Just as she was about to bring the two pieces together, Nathaniel’s arm went limp and dropped down into his lap. The night suddenly settled back into a deafening silence.

With her hands shaking, Solona waited. Nathaniel’s head lolled off the tree branch and dropped down, the rest of him entirely unmoving save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

She scrambled off to his side to try to bring the arm into more light, sensing as she did that Nathaniel was beginning to slump. Her heart jumped into her throat. He could wake quickly, and she didn’t want to still be hurting him when he did.

She located the two tie offs quickly, but had to adjust his hand to pull tightly again. A tourniquet effect was not optional, as even if the outer flesh of his hand had mended due to the potion, the internal injuries could continue to bleed, filling up his tissues with a sludge of fluid. She tied the two tails into a double knot and then fell back, heart racing.

The stick was now in Nathaniel’s lap and his body continued to list, leaning so that it was nearly on the verge of falling sideways into the dirt. Solona waited another moment to see if he might be moving on his own, finding his way back to consciousness. Instead he only continued to tip, giving no indication that he had any control over his body. Solona scooted in closer, positioning herself just under him so that she could support his weight once it slid away from the tree.

His body settled upon her almost in slow motion. First the silk caress of his hair on her shoulder, and then the warm heft of his chest growing heavier and heavier against her arm. She pushed against his chest until he was back upright, repositioning him against the tree, but quickly he began to slide in the other direction.

She centered him again, her hands gripping at the warm meat of his shoulders, while scooting her own body closer still.

Finally she gave up and let him rest against her. There at least she could confirm he was still breathing, and know the moment he began to stir.

 

Warmth began to pool between them. Solona became aware again that he was without the protection of his tunic or leathers, but in his unconsciousness had stopped shivering. Still, he had to have been cold, just as she was. But so close together, she could share his heat and give him some of hers. She repositioned herself so that she could fold her arms between herself and his shoulder. And then changed positions again, wedging herself under his arm, nestling directly against his body. She pulled her knees up to her chest and let them rest against him. She folded her arms against the meat of his back, adding an additional support to his weight. The warmth increased immediately, enough that her own shivers began to diminish. Patches of sticky blood remained in various places on his chest and shoulders, filling her senses with its sharp, tangy scent. But even despite it, there was no denying that she felt a tremendous relief as she pressed herself against him.

 

Would he mind? If he woke to her up in his space as she was, pressing her body against his in such an intimate fashion, what would he think?

 

The moment he’d touched her cheek came back to her, nearly startling her with vividness. She’d been trying to provoke him, demanding him to take his revenge. She wanted him to plunge his dagger into her chest and end her miserable existence, and instead… he’d touched her cheek.

The same cheek was now resting against his bare skin. It began to tingle as she became aware of it, followed by a stark awareness in the rest of her body. He was warm and solid and completely out of it, and she needed his warmth for survival, not because she actually _liked it._ Besides, it was no secret that he _hated_ her.

Right?

 

He had to have been confused before. Maybe it had merely been an accident in the dark. Maybe he meant to hit her. Maybe he was reaching for his own face and clipped hers instead, or he was trying to push her and he missed. Maybe he would wake and be repulsed at the situation. Maybe he would not appreciate the fact that she was stealing his warmth while he was unconscious from pain.

No, that was stupid, right? He wasn’t unreasonable. She was keeping him warm too. They had no choice but to rely on each other right now and until they got back to camp. If he had any problem with that, then too fucking bad.

Besides, she had saved his life! Well… after she’d endangered it. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that the whole situation was essentially her fault. If she hadn’t gone to him to apologize and then thrown her little tantrum, then Nathaniel might have heard the wolves in time and gotten out of their way. They might never have been detected by the wolves at all. He certainly wouldn’t be shirtless and unarmed when they arrived.

But there was no way for her to know that would happen. Except that they all knew the woods were full of wild beasts. It was one thing to endanger herself, it was another to be so reckless with someone else’s life, even someone who wanted her dead.

Except clearly he didn’t. He’d had too many opportunities now. He’d had her almost begging him to do it, and he could have gotten away with it too. And what had he said?

_That is not what I desire now._

 

Solona shook her head and grumbled under her breath. There would be no answers until he woke up. And maybe not even then. It seemed the only thing left to do was wait.

 


	7. Seven

Twice now in less than 24 hours Nathaniel had woken up with Solona right against him. The top of her head rested just under his chin, the intoxicating scent of her filling his senses. Her presence was an oasis of calm in an increasing assault of sensations; a soft balm blunting the the sharp stabs of pain. His injured arm throbbed heavily, each pulse of his heart resonating with the impact of a hammer. And then the cold. Sandwiched between the warmth of her body and his useless limb, shivers crawled over him like icy fingers.

Finally, the dizziness. Cold air inflated his head, spinning him away from both his body and the earth.

His first conscious breath was a groan.

Solona moved and his weight shifted with her, throwing his body into the instinctive effort to catch itself. The jolt tore into his wounded arm, stunning him with a new wave of stinging pain. Everything about his hand felt wrong.

_“Nathaniel?”_

He grumbled something in response. Any moment now the ground should be coming up to meet him. He welcomed it. It was nice being against her again, but sleep wanted him back.

Soft hands fluttered against his chest. For all their tenderness, they somehow possessed the strength to stay between him in the beckoning earth. He heard his name again and her breath close to his ear. It prickled the hairs on his neck.

 

He’d dreamed of her in his unconsciousness. He’d been dreaming of her the entire day. He never meant to let himself fall asleep in her bed after bringing her down from the watchtower. He’d fully intended to sneak away as soon as she was quiet again, to go back to his own room like a gentleman. But her embrace had been irresistible, and before he knew it the sky outside the window had changed from black to a deep blue. A bird singing confusedly somewhere out in the Keep alerted him to the hour, one of the last stragglers who’d yet to escape to the warmer northern climes before the winter crept in. He scrambled out of there as quickly as he was able to, suddenly fully awake, his chest pounding.

Tiny whispers of memory had come back to him throughout the day as he watched her walk, leading their small group down the muddy pathways. Moments when sleep was shallow and she shifted closer, tangling her legs between his, her fingertips slipping down his back and fitting themselves into the notches of his spine. He’d not thought of anything else for the entire day’s journey.

 

In the black moments against the tree, when pain filled every strand of his physical being, his mind had gone back to her bed. To her sleepy breath. To the incoherent words she’d mumbled in her sleep. And to the coherent ones.

 

“ _Please wake up, Nathaniel. We have to get you to Anders.”_

 

He was helpless against the plea in her voice. Had he ever heard her sound so worried? Opening his eyes, he tried to force the shadows before him to stay in place. He gritted his teeth and stretched his back. The fact that his torso was bare and exposed to the cold immediately became apparent. So did her proximity.

 

The moon behind her lit up her hair in a halo of silver flyaways, tracing her figure in pale light. Nathaniel pushed himself upright and reached toward her with his good arm. He connected with bare skin, covered in goosebumps and quivering violently. It felt so natural to pull her back toward him, and she came forward willingly.

 

It wasn’t until she was against him again, his arm draped around her back, that he realized he wasn’t still dreaming. This was reality. For a second he went stiff, expecting that she’d push herself away. Or push him away. Maybe even worse. He’d already been on the receiving end of her rage once that day.

Instead, she only sighed and folded herself against his chest. She had been there already, anyhow. He tightened his hold and tried to rub warmth into her back, or at least help lessen her shivering. His head fell onto hers and rested for a moment. The pain in his arm ebbed out of the picture. He was holding her, while she was awake, and she was letting him. It all seemed entirely too easy.

But it didn’t last. She pulled her head out from under his and peered up into his face, her features lost to the shadow.

“How do you feel? You need to walk, Nathaniel. If we move we’ll warm up a little,” she said.

 

Slowly, Nathaniel nodded. He tried to look past her. The bodies of the wolves littered the shoreline. The smoky scent of a recently extinguished fire hung in the air. He nodded again. It was all so surreal.

A rush of cold hit him as Solona pulled further away and climbed up to a stand. The moon emblazoned the perfect outline of a woman onto the darkness. He watched, entranced, as the outline bent down toward him, her movement stirring up the frigid air. He felt her hand again, cautious and exploring, searching for a place to hold onto him. He pulled his throbbing arm into his lap. Every movement set his nerves on fire. He went stiff as he hissed, waiting for the sting to subside. Solona waited too.

He let her guide him. One foot up, and then the other, his weight pushing toward the sky until finally he was upright, but uneasily so. Solona fit herself under his arm. Her fingers grazed around his waist and then settled into a solid grip above his hip.

“I need my things,” he croaked.

The night had begun to spin again. Part of him wanted to go back to his dream. Part of him was starkly aware that the woman he’d been dreaming of stood right there.

“Right,” she sighed. She was still for a long moment, her body bracing his. He took a few deep breaths and tried to urge the lightheadedness to subside.

“Can you stand by yourself?” Even as she asked she pulled away, testing his balance. He squared his stance and steeled his back. As he focused he could feel a little of his strength returning.

“Yes, I think so,” he said.

He watched her compact little form flit around the shoreline as she collected what must have been his things. She found his bow and his quiver, draped what looked to be additional pieces of his leathers over his arms, and finally, the catch from his hunt. He’d already tied the hind feet of the four rabbits together and fashioned his typical loop to secure them to the back of his belt. When she was done, she stopped before him.

“I guess you’ll need help putting these back on,” she said. Her tone held the distinct sharpness of annoyance. It shattered the last of the dreamlike pall.

Nathaniel almost laughed. How quickly the spell could be broken.

“Don’t inconvenience yourself on my account,” he said without thinking.

Her silhouette tensed. He felt her eyes even though he couldn’t see them.

She sighed. Her shoulders drooped slightly. Nathaniel immediately regretted the snark.

“Of course you’ll need help,” she said, her tone soft again. “You lost a lot of blood. Your hand is… well, it can barely be called a hand at this point. That was horrible, what happened. Absolutely horrible. I’m sorry. It was all my fault. I shouldn’t have…” She shook her head tiredly. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

 

He blinked at her figure in the darkness. Two apologies from her in less than 24 hours. Two different occasions he’d been allowed to hold her. This would be a day for the record books.

 

“Your fault? I did not realize that you were responsible for the wolves living in the forest,” Nathaniel said.

“You know what I mean,” she answered.

“Do I?”

“If I hadn’t been here, you would have heard them before they got close, like you always do.”

“Right… like I always do when you’re also there with me. Your presence hasn’t interfered before.”

“But…” her figure went still. Nathaniel could feel her tensing up. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t just accepting her apology. Clearly she felt the need to give one.

“But, I guess on a normal night you wouldn’t have risen from a lake in just your skivvies, like some kind of… mythical nymph of the deep…” There was a sharpness to his words that he didn’t intend.

She snorted, and somehow the sound was unexpectedly sad. Her energy was a distinctive, palpable thing in the dark. He could sense it withdrawing from him, closing itself off. If her wall had been down, it back was back up now. Nathaniel clamped his mouth shut. He waited for her to lash back out at him, to call him out for mocking her. He’d deserve it.

But the words had been correct, despite his tone. She _had_ seemed like a sort of mythical enchantress. He’d been thinking of her then, just as he had been all day. When he’d felt the approaching Warden energy he’d desperately hoped it’d be her. And there she’d been, a manifestation of his wishes, a dream come to life. But of course that’s not how he made it sound.

Her silence made him ache. He bit his tongue. His stupid, snarky tongue.

He’d never had this problem of saying the wrong things so often before. Usually his words were carefully selected and delivered. It was a matter of pride. But he’d also never had a woman make him feel so much before.

 

She shuffled through the items in her hands, setting aside his bow and the rabbits, and exploring the pieces of his leathers by feel. Turning, she fired off a small ball of fire at the pile of sticks she’d gathered earlier. The flare of light revealed her standing much closer than he expected. He took in as much of her as he could before the light died; the hair follicles standing on end all over her body, the sharp points of her contracted nipples through the flimsy breast band, the stiff way she held herself as she tried to control the shivering. He took a step toward her, longing to wrap his arms — or arm, at least — around her again. It was painful to see her looking so cold. Before the light died her dark eyes flashed warily up at him. It stopped him in his tracks, confirming that his words had soured her mood. But there wasn’t anger there. It would have been easier if there was.

“I can hardly tell what I’m looking at with these,” she said quietly as she continued to fumble with straps and chest pieces. The sticks didn’t hold the flame this time. She sent up another ball, straight into the air above them. The light lasted a little longer and faded more slowly as it dissipated somewhere over the treetops.

Nathaniel turned to scan the shore for more branches before the light was gone, but only felt his balance waver. He caught himself with a righting step just as her hands landed on his stomach.

“I’ll get them,” she insisted as she held him upright. “You don’t have to do anything. Just stand there and save your strength. And, you know, don’t die.”

Before she could pull away, Nathaniel covered her hand with his. She froze.

He opened his mouth to speak but his words caught in his throat. What could he possibly say? He could apologize, but he’d already apologized earlier. So had she. Were they just going to stand out here and apologize back and forth to each other all night? Would an apology even help? He couldn’t exactly say what he really wanted to.

_I want to know you. I want to be close to you. Please be patient with me._

Or… maybe that was exactly what he should do?

The words were on the tip of his tongue. He could taste them, feel their shape ready to be formed and spoken.

But it wasn’t that simple, was it? She wasn’t just any woman. She was _The Hero_ , and as Warden-Commander she was his superior. Not only might such a personal confession be overstepping, but she was clearly still grieving.

His memory replayed that name. Alistair. The way she’d said it. The way she’d clung to him. It was Alistair she thought she was holding all night. And then tonight, when he’d woken to her against him… that was merely about staying warm. It had to have been. Just sheer practicality, nothing more.

His heart clenched into a tight ball.

“Thank you,” he offered instead. “I’ve no doubt the wolves would have found me anyway, and if you hadn’t been here—”

“You would have had your bow. Your armor.”

“Yes. But that might not have mattered.” He squeezed her hand. The chill of her skin was quickly replaced by warmth as it rested below his ribs. Her finger twitched. He wished he could see her eyes. He probably shouldn’t have touched her again, but it was strange how easily the impulse came, even though in every other way he felt… nervous. But he’d have to let her go of course. They had to make their way back.

 

The realization made his stomach lurch. When they made it back to camp, once Anders had done his thing and the rabbits were cooking, things would just return to normal. They’d no longer be alone together, there would be no reason left for them to touch, or even speak. Most nights at camp she stayed long enough after dinner to have a drink or two, then she always retired early, while Nathaniel remained at the fireside, tending to the flames throughout the night. He often hoped that she might have some reason to venture out during the late hours when it was only him awake, but she never did.

Despite the throbbing mass of pulp that was his arm, despite the cold, he felt no hurry to return to camp.

 

Solona slipped her hand out from under his and went back to looking for firewood. Nathaniel watched her move, aware that even though they hadn’t even started back yet, their seconds together were ticking away.

 

“What did you mean before?” she asked him. “When you said I wasn’t fooling anyone?”

Nathaniel searched his memory. That conversation couldn’t have been more than an hour ago, but it felt like so much longer. He remembered her talking about killing his father. Trying to anger him. And apologizing for the ice.

“Um.” He raised his good hand and squeezed at his brows. The conversation before the wolf attack was somehow both vividly clear and a confusing jumble. He’d just been saying things that time too, things that weren’t untrue, but that he knew he’d regret later even as he continued to speak them. It just spilled out so easily. It occurred to him that it might have been a habit he was developing from constantly arguing with Anders. That damned mage thought he was so bloody witty. It felt good to put him in his place sometimes. A little too good. He needed to stop letting that bleed into his conversations with Solona.

He kept saying all the things he didn’t want to, and none of the things that he did.

“My mind’s a bit fuzzy on that conversation already,” he muttered. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Uh huh,” she murmured flatly. She continued walking the waterline. He heard her sigh.

“Well, I guess blood loss will do that. And trauma.”

She bent over and picked up a stick, and then padded quietly over to another. As she passed behind the wolf bodies their immense size nearly obscured her. If he’d encountered them on his own, without any light to be sure of his aim, there was no way he could have taken them all down in time. It was lucky that she had been here, despite whatever she thought. Though he still didn’t know why she would have swam out so far in the first place. Had she been looking for him?

“I was apologizing for freezing you,” she continued.

He nodded. He remembered her challenging him. And flinching when he touched her. He’d given himself away then, hadn’t he? So what did it matter now if he spoke more of his desires?

 

But coming on too strong was never a good thing. Such as touching her so often. At least not until she gave some indication it was welcome.

 

“And you said something about knowing my reasons. That everyone knew my reasons. Ring any bells?”

“The reason you froze me? You mean aside from the fact that I was, as you put it, stealing your kills? Same as I had in the Deep Roads.”

Silence again. But she continued to move. She bent down and picked up another stick, but discarded it quickly.

“It’s no secret you enjoy taking down the darkspawn, Solona,” he answered. “That’s all.”

Her shadow came closer, dropping the collection of sticks at their feet. She knelt down and arranged them into a haphazard pile.

“Right,” she mumbled so quiet he almost didn’t hear her. “That’s all.”

“Look, sometimes, lately, my mouth has been… getting away from me. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.”

He shifted on his feet and immediately felt a wave of lightheadedness. This time Solona didn’t seem to notice; she just stared down into the pile of sticks. He took a deep breath and centered himself enough to stop from toppling over.

 

“Lots of apologies tonight. Let’s just chalk it up to a very strange day and call it even, yes?” he offered gently. “You’re sorry for… whatever you’re sorry for. Endangering my life, or so you think. And I’m sorry for…” he sighed. “Everything.”

She started moving the sticks again, but it looked mindless.

“Everything? That’s quite a broad statement.” she said.

“Perhaps. You deserve a more complete enumeration of my offenses, no doubt, but I don’t want to burden you with all that… talk.”

For a moment he almost thought he heard something like a quiet laugh. He kept his eyes locked onto her dark form, searching her shadow for any confirmation. The possibility almost made him forget about the nagging pain at his arm.

“Yes, well you could just add it to the list, I suppose,” she said. “You’ve already been downright chatty tonight anyhow. Hopefully that means you’re feeling a little better.”

“Better?” He shrugged. “I don’t have two murderous beasts ripping open my flesh, so, yes, this is a decided improvement.” In truth he felt like utter nugshit, but he was there with her. Alone. And now she was even talking. The pain and dizziness, as much as they threatened to knock him back on his ass at any moment, were just incidental. “If I am bothering you though, I will be quiet.”

“I’m not bothered,” she said.

 

She stood and in a swift move the scenery before him was bathed in a vibrant orange light. The wash of heat that followed it washed chased away the chill in his bones. He watched her, awed, as she manifested flames from the ether as though it was completely mundane. And to her, of course, it was. In all his life he’d never spent so much time in the company of a mage, or two, as it were. At times it still struck him how much of a miracle magic seemed to be.

These branches held the flames easily, and once the light was established she went back to the tangle of leathers, now able to pick out different pieces. It struck him that she would be touching him again, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine.

She removed the pouches and faced him, his belt in her hands, eying him with a look of trepidation.

“Well,” she shrugged, looking at his waist. “I’ll try to make this quick.”

She closed the distance in two strides and before he was prepared, her hands were on him again, slipping the end of the belt into his loops, her chest rising and falling nervously only inches away. Nathaniel took a breath of her and tried not to stare too hard or look too entranced. He cleared his throat as she tugged, jerking his body slightly as she worked her way around his waist. Occasionally her knuckles grazed his bare skin, forcing him to stifle a reactive shudder. Every swallow, every sound he made reverberated in his ears at an unnatural volume. His empty stomach rumbled its need for food. His breath hitched as she came back around to face him and work the buckle below his navel. The blood in his body shifted, causing his vision to swoon precariously, the ground listing enough to send his head swimming.

She finished quickly and returned with the pouches. He begged his body not to respond too enthusiastically to her touch, as impossible a request as that was. There would be no way to hide an erection when she was constantly having to look down at his belt. It might even cause him to pass out again.

“So, for conversation’s sake,” she began, an apparent effort to break the awkwardness. “Humor me and enumerate some of these other so-called offenses covered by your apology.”

Nathaniel let out an unexpected laugh. He felt like he could fall into the large, deep pools that were staring up at him, waiting for his answer. Taking a deep breath, he looked away, casting his eye up toward the points of light in the sky, around at the black figures of the swaying trees, trying not to let himself get overwhelmed with the experience of her.

“Well… my lady…” he began and almost immediately winced. “I guess I can start by apologizing for not using your formal title. Command—er, _Warden_ -Commander. I’ve never served in the ranks of any organization before--”

She secured the final pouch, angling herself off to his side. It was a little easier than having her right under his face.

“Or had many people above you in any capacity, I’m guessing? You being a noble and all,” she added. “Most of the people you grew up with were probably equals or of a lesser station. Servants… prisoners… employees?”

Nathaniel frowned. It didn’t sound accusatory, but the implications weren’t pleasant.

“I have always made an effort to be kind to the servants, and everyone else. Unless I’m given a reason not to be. And being born a noble is not something I asked for.”

“A fair point.” Solona shrugged. “Well, anyway, I don’t really care if you call me Commander. Becoming the last Warden in Ferelden was not something I asked for.”

She stepped away again, bending down to pick up another piece, turning it around and eying the buckles. A large scar stretching across her left shoulder, while smears of blood stained her waist and the backs of her thighs in places she’d yet to wash off. Nathaniel tried to keep his eyes off the two little dimples at the small of her back. He gritted his teeth and looked up into the sky.

 

“A little help, please?” she asked as she frowned at the mass of leather before her.

Nathaniel pointed at the next piece, a simple chest plate with straps that allowed the whole piece to slide over his head like a tunic. For the first time he considered how uncomfortable this would all be without his actual tunic beneath them. He hoped there wouldn’t be much chafing, though it would be dull in comparison to his injuries. In the flickering light, he assessed his bandaged arm. The throbbing continued, and was coming in a quicker rhythm due to Solona’s attention. His hand was completely covered by a layer of red-stained tunic that stretched over it, though it wasn’t overly wet. Clearly he wasn’t bleeding out anymore, even if there was still considerable damage beneath.

“You should probably elevate it,” Solona said as she nodded to his arm. She was only inches away from him again, holding up the chest plate. He bent his elbow to hold his wrist up toward his shoulder.

“Also,” he continued as she slipped straps over his head and helped to work it down. Her fingers pressed and fumbled as they worked to straighten the straps over his chest. The throbbing increased in speed again. He glanced at her face to see her studying the leathers with an intense focus. She was so very close, and he was losing his train of thought.

“I’m sorry for….” He gasped as both her hands slipped under his arms and around to his shoulder blades. Reaching the straps, she pulled, scraping down his back.

“…touching me….”

She pulled back and looked at him with a confused little frown, but didn’t say anything.

“ _You,_ I mean. You. I’m sorry for... overstepping or,” he paused again as she pulled away. She tugged at the front of the breastplate to center it. “For not having a way to keep you warm besides body heat…”

She stepped away and waited for direction on the next piece. Nathaniel pointed out the next one while biting his tongue. Conversation should have been a good idea, but he was fumbling it. _Just stop talking, Nathaniel._

“You don’t need to keep me warm. I knew what I was doing out in that lake. It’s lucky for you that being an archer keeps you out of the way of all the blood and filth. I, on the other hand, desperately needed a bath. And now,” she glanced down at the dried splatter on her belly, and red-stained thigh, “I already need another.”

She finished up the strap and took a step back to look at it.

“You don’t need to be up in the filth either, Solona.”

“Yes,” she answered firmly. “I do.”

She turned her back and scanned the ground around them. There remained his bow and quiver to collect, and the night’s catch. She picked up the rabbits and inspected the loop before walking it over to him and tying it to his belt in the place he usually put it himself, in the back but off to the side so that the bodies didn’t bang against his thigh.

“Besides,” she said quietly, “it was nice out there. Alone, under the stars.”

“Yes, it is.” He nodded. “That’s why I was taking my time out here.”

 

The fire had already dimmed considerably. His injured arm was growing even heavier than it already felt, so he let it fall. The movement stung much more than he was expecting, and he felt the world lurch as a wave of pain slammed into him.

When the spinning slowed, he felt her hands again. Warm and firm, one reaching around to lay flat against his back, the other cupping his rib cage. Her face was only a breath away. One small move and he could kiss her.

And then he’d probably be frozen into a casket of ice from which he’d never emerge. He hoped she couldn’t feel how quickly his heart was racing, nor the river of hot blood that was rushing down into the lower half of his body. Those dark eyes of hers stayed fixed on him, bottomless pools of mystery.

“Why did you touch my cheek before?” she asked quietly. And then she stepped away. Nathaniel stayed upright, the pain in his arm still persistent, but fading out of focus.

“Because,” he began. A million answers stuttered forth, but there was only room for one. “Because you’re so… beautiful.”

She snorted and dropped her gaze as she leaned down to grab the strap that would secure his bow and quiver.

“ _Beautiful,_ ” she repeated derisively. “Well I’m not sure that’s accurate.”

“What?” he asked, bewildered.

“Even if it was,” she continued, “that’s probably a compliment best delivered to my parents, if they still live. The configuration of my physical features is not something I can take credit for, is it?”

She walked over and threw the strap over his head. She inspected his face, ran her eyes down his neck and his chest.

“Neither can you,” she said pointedly. Nathaniel tilted his head, unsure how to respond. He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

“Neither can I,” he repeated, even if only to encourage her to continue.

“No,” she said. She stepped away again and ran her eyes over him again. The heat returned to his cheeks. “I might not have given it much notice before, but you, Nathaniel Howe, are a _very_ attractive man.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “But so what? You’re not attractive because you’re good, or smart or as a reflection of your character. You simply got lucky in how your parent’s features combined, and here you are. And it doesn’t matter. Because what you look like isn’t you, just like what I look like isn’t me. Our bodies are merely vessels. Puppets of meat that we control for a while. Someday your spirit will leave yours. And someday — soon, hopefully — I will leave mine and our cells will rot, and the essence of what we really are will… go somewhere else. The side of the Maker or whatever, right? Isn’t that what the Chantry teaches? ”

She sighed and turned around, surveying the shoreline. She picked up the quiver and bow and secured them to his back.

Nathaniel cleared his throat. “I… guess so.”

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to say all the other things he’d been dying to say. She had a point of course, but it wasn’t just that she was pretty. He just… _felt_ something he couldn’t explain.

She turned again and began walking the shoreline, looking around the dirt, presumably for anything she might have missed.

 

Her face had hounded him after she let him collect his family’s things and leave the Keep. He’d walked to Amaranthine with her on his mind the whole time, though he couldn’t fathom why. He was still reeling from the fact that she hadn’t executed him, and thought perhaps that must have been it. She was no longer just the woman who’d murdered his father, but was also the woman who’d given him his life back after he was sure it was over.

It came as such as a surprise that she was both this legend, but also just this small, normal looking woman. When he’d intercepted her and the others traveling to Amaranthine, he felt it again. There was no rhyme or reason to it.

A married friend of his in the Marches had once said that when he’d first met his wife he “just knew.” Nathaniel had laughed it off at the time. But since meeting Solona, he was feeling more and more like he understood.

“Solona…” he began.

“What, Nathaniel?”

“I guess we can add to the list that I’m sorry I touched your cheek.”

 

To that, she laughed. A real laugh, the first he’d heard from her yet. But her back was turned again. If she was smiling, finally, _truly_ smiling, he couldn’t see it.

 

Somewhere, moving quickly, came that familiar tickle in his mind, the same as the sensation of Solona, but dimmer. Solona turned in its direction and tilted her head. They source moved much more quickly and less erratically than darkspawn. It immediately changed tack, moving directly toward them. She looked to Nathaniel.

“I guess the others have found us?”

Disappointment bloomed in the pit of Nathaniel’s stomach. His injured arm continued to throb, the pain spreading sickly tendrils up into his shoulder. Suddenly his whole body felt heavy, and not worth the effort to move.

Here it was. The end of their time had come.

 

At least they’d connected a little. She’d said more to him than she’d ever said before. He closed his eyes and soaked in the memory of her touch, trying to block out the awareness of the approaching figures who were coming to kill this waking dream.

But she was still there. They still had a few precious seconds. He opened his eyes and looked at her again, the vision of her so perfect that it almost physically hurt. She had her arms crossed over her chest and rubbed them furiously. Her knees were shaking. She looked back at him , her eyes lit up with anticipation and relief. She at least would not be tasked with dragging him back through the forest by herself.

As unpleasant as that would have been in so many ways, how many more opportunities might there have been to put his arms around her? To share each other’s heat, and strength?

But what if that would not have been something she wanted?

He kept his eyes locked onto her as they waited, savoring every second that remained. If it was up to him, she would be the only thing in his vision until the light was gone. Anders called out their names and Solona responded. The rustle of leaves and branches grew louder as Oghren and Anders crashed through them. A breeze came off the lake and whipped up her hair, which had dried in a wavy disarray around her pale face. She stepped closer to the little fire and held her hands over it. The breeze intensified her shaking, and Nathaniel’s body surged with the desire to go to her, to warm her.

 

He was about to take a step toward her when Anders burst through the trees, his head turning directly toward Solona. Shortly after, Oghren emerged, his battleaxe poised and ready. He stopped and stared around at the wolf bodies, then hooked his axe on his back.

“By the bloody _stone_ …” he said.

“We saw a fireball over the trees,” explained Anders. “Was that to signal us?”

Solona’s eyes flicked to Nathaniel. He couldn’t let himself look away, even now that the spotlight of her attention had turned to him; it felt like the moment he did was when it would all really be over. She stared back, unblinking. He realized his longing was probably plainly visible. Every secret, twisted thing in his heart might have been visible to her in that moment.

And then Anders stepped between them. He wrapped Solona up in robe and swept her up into his arms.

“I figured you’d want this. I brought you boots too, but they’re over here,” explained Anders. He wore a satisfied smirk Nathaniel instantly itched to destroy.

“Wait, Nathaniel’s injured,” Solona said as Anders began walking her back toward the treeline. Nathaniel caught a flash of her face as Anders turned again, lit up with firelight and gazing up at Anders with gratitude. Nathaniel’s stomach sank even further.

Anders flicked his hand out, sending a blast of healing toward Nathaniel almost as an afterthought.

When the pain in his arm finally ebbed away, Nathaniel didn’t notice or care.

 


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A jump ahead to after the Wending Wood missions.

Mahogany brown eyes. Hair the color of mud. Skin that burned in the sunlight instead of bronzed. A scar cutting through her right eyebrow, leaving a line where the hair would never grow back. Incisors just a touch too prominent. No matter how many times Solona looked at her reflection, it was always the same boring features. She didn’t have the long dramatic eyelashes that Celina in the circle had. Nor the silvery blue irises that Teri used to hypnotize all her admirers. Nor an hourglass figure like Quinn, or the slender grace of the elves. The circle had been a sea of walking fascinations, while she’d been as non-descript as they’d come. She spent all those days hoping Anders might notice her, but then she’d catch a glimpse of her reflection somewhere and remember why that wasn’t going to happen. Mirrors had never been Solona’s friend.

Alistair had seen something in her that he liked, but she had a whole lifetime of other people who hadn’t, people who reaffirmed the plainness she saw in herself day after day.

_Beautiful. Bah!_

Perhaps Nathaniel had hit his head during the attack.

And she’d meant every word she’d said afterward, anyway. Beauty was inconsequential; something doled out at random by luck or the Maker or whatever the fuck else was in control of those things. Even those with unattractive parents managed to have attractive babies. Nathaniel was proof of that, though if the painting hung in the main hall was accurate, his mother had been pretty. It was she who’d passed him those piercing blue eyes and nearly black hair. Nathaniel was fortunate to have a less oversized version of his father’s aquiline nose, and a stronger jaw. Appearance-wise, he’d gotten the best of Rendon, a fact which must have benefited him greatly throughout his life.

But none of that indicated what kind of person he was.

 

It was clear since the night she’d held Alistair in her arms and watched his life slip away that bodies — including all their beautiful features — were nothing more than puppets. Alistair’s worst injury had been to his stomach, but most of him was intact. So much that she loved about him had been gathered up and left right there in her lap, and it would have stayed there until it rotted away if she’d let it. The lips she kissed at every opportunity. The strong, square hands she held anytime she wasn’t holding onto to something else. Those cheeks that blushed bright pink for nearly the entire first three months they were getting to know each other. His tongue that had learned her body and brought her more pleasure than she knew was possible. His strong neck, corded with muscle and the container of that distinctive, expressive voice. All of it was still there, left behind to crush her thighs and strain her arms with its weight, even long after whatever it was that made him _him_ was long gone.

She still looked at her own hands with the knowledge that one day hers too would fall limp and never move again, just like Alistair’s had. Left to its own natural decomposition, the fluid inside every cell would evaporate, the flesh would shrivel, the bones would turn to dust. Nothing in the pure physicality of her hands would cross the veil and continue into the beyond with her spirit. The _image_ of them might. The appearance of her face, her body could be replicated in the Fade, but probably only because her consciousness projected it out of habit. After enough time floating around the other side, she’d eventually release that too, and become something else entirely. Her form would take whatever served her needs, or what naturally occurred when all influence of this realm faded.

Had Alistair gotten to that point already? Would she even recognize him when she met him again? Would she ever hear that voice or kiss anything that burned with the passion of his lips again? Those lips were ash now, some of which sat in a vial she could hardly bring herself to look at, buried in the bottom of a pouch under her bed. The rest had been sent up to Weisshaupt to join the remains and relics of the other blight-ending Wardens.

 

She inspected her own lips in the mirror. Like every other feature of hers, they didn’t appear to be anything special. Pink in comparison to her bonemeal skin, but it wasn’t difficult to look brightly colored against something so drained. Neither lush and plump nor thin and drawn, the lips Alistair had loved kissing were actually just… _average._ But in light of the fact that they would soon be either ash or dust too, it didn’t really matter, did it? It was freeing in a way, not to feel any particular sentiment about her body. Not to have to bother with vanity. An average body made letting go so, so much easier. _Welcome,_ even _._

 

Buried or burned, like the men at the Wending Wood camp, dispersing with smoke into the sky or rotting under piles of rocks. Or crippled, awaiting release from their mortal chains like Olaf, that man outside the ruins who’d been infected with the taint and left to die. His skin had broken open in boils and begun to go grey with ghoulishness. “Dead soft meat, melting into the ground,” he’d said, describing himself inadvertently as he recalled how the darkspawn slaughtered his comrades. Even if it wasn’t already a topic she’d spent considerable time ruminating, the broken bodies she and the Wardens came face to face with every day, made the impermanence of their physical selves an unignorable reality.

 

Even when healthy,  bodies could be so blighted _burdensome_ . The hunger that twisted her stomach so regularly was unquestionably a burden. The Wardens had to plan their day around their meals, knowing that if they tried to travel through their hunger they’d be distracted and miserable. And the other hungers, other needs that called attention to themselves until they were sated, made slaves of their owners. Like the rather inconvenient need for sleep. How much more could be accomplished in the world if people didn’t have to camp every night and spend so much time lost to unconsciousness? A third of the day, a third of a person’s _life_  wasted by laying motionless in one spot. Surely spirits didn’t have to do that. But there were consequences for fighting their bodies’ needs. Without sleep, focus was lost and tiredness made them slow.

 

And then of course there was also the worst hunger of all: the desire to join with another. _Sex._

 

Solona fell back against the padding of her chair and felt the rush under her skin at even the thought, at the memories  invading her every waking moment. Alistair pressing her hard against a tree, his fingers pulling frantically at her robe. Buttons popping loose, seams creaking as they ripped. Tree bark breaking off against her bare back as she writhed against it. His tongue in her mouth and teeth on her neck. That fire between her legs, such a sweet, desperate _ache._ So many times they couldn’t seem to join fast enough, or hard enough, so that as one session finished they barely had time to catch their breath before starting again. Waking in the night to their bodies moving together in their unconsciousness, as though fucking was their natural, default state. Sending lusty, saturated looks across the group to each other that clearly communicated one thing. _I need you as soon as possible._

Like Alistair, that desire had been dead for seven months. There’d been no sign of even a spark of it.

 

Until her dream about being held during that strange night. A week later, a full trip through the Wending Wood and back — or nearly back -- and its effect was still present. The memory, flashes of it surfacing as she fought, as they walked, as she rubbed the soreness out of her arms after a long battle, and dragged rags over her skin to clear away the blood spatter. As she tuned out the new girl’s constant condescension and complaining, and attempted to wrestle with the implications of a _talking darkspawn Emissary!_ No, despite all that they saw down in those ruins and passageways, what continued to distract was the simple fantasy of bodies tangling. Flesh and breath and warmth. Arms closing strong around her. The dream reawakened her body’s need for Alistair’s hungry, searching mouth. His always-ready cock.

 

Now, it seemed, would be the perfect time for Anders to _really_ turn his attention her way, for more than just a pointless flirtation or confusing show of heroics. If all he ever wanted was a fuck, then that was certainly something she could provide. Her heart might reside elsewhere, but Anders didn’t want that anyway. Alcohol had deadened the pain for a while, but she was finding herself aching for a new kind of abuse.

 

She could only hope Alistair would forgive her. But he would have to, whether he liked it or not. He had left her behind to suffer without him, and now he _owed_ her.

 

Solona stood, relieved to be dried and dressed after her bath, ready to join the downstairs crowd. They’d come out of the Wending Wood to the north and stumbled upon a road running toward Black Marsh. A plume of smoke rising high over the treetops had alerted them to the rickety little inn, situated right where the road met with the waterline of the bay. They were shocked already at its mere existence out in the middle of nowhere, and shocked again when they entered and discovered almost a dozen raucous patrons, mostly fisherman and farmers from the look of it. They were already deep in the drink based upon the exuberant volume of their voices, though the two busty barmaids sauntering around the tables might have been part of the draw.

The elf girl had put up some considerable opposition to spending the night in a shemlen building, surrounded by shemlen strangers, but both Anders and Oghren had insisted on staying anyhow. Anders had sneered that he’d had enough of _nature_ , and Oghren was eager to refill his supply of “travel booze.” And though she hadn’t felt the need to say so, Solona had been grateful. Their time down in the ruins resulted in an overwhelming amount of information to process, such as Olaf’s claim his crew had been watched and even stalked by darkspawn before their actual attack. This story was alarming in how it once again proved these recent darkspawn’s ability to plan and strategize, something that was mostly unheard of as far as Solona knew. How many others possessed the same intellect as that Emissary talker? Darkspawn who weren’t just mindless killers were an entirely different ballgame from what she and Alistair had battled throughout the rest of Ferelden. It had put shivers down her spine.

At least at the tavern there’d be walls closing out the cold, as well as any potential spying eyes, and would allow them to mount a better defense if they were surrounded. Though the downside would be the potential for collateral damage and innocents caught in the crossfire. If this Emissary truly did not want to be her enemy as he had claimed, then he’d be sure the darkspawn kept their distance.

She exited her room and glanced behind her at the hall’s furthest end where a double glass door led out to a public balcony and a view of the choppy bay waters. A residual bleed of pinkish purple tinted the horizon, but the stars blazed brilliantly overhead, calling her toward them with their quiet beauty. An aura of cold emanated off the glass panes of the door, while the length of hall on her other side promised warmth. Warmth and food and company, and maybe even a companion for the night. A stranger might be just the thing; someone who would use her and be used in return, then let go the next day with no expectations. Or maybe… maybe she might find out once and for all if it actually _had_ been Anders in her bed that night almost a week ago. He’d been flashing her curious looks more and more, making excuses for conversation. Standing close even when he didn’t have to.

Nathaniel also seemed different. Quieter somehow, save for the moments he was bickering with Anders. A strange viciousness had grown between those two over the past few days, though she suspected it might have been at least partly due to exhaustion. When Nathaniel did speak, Solona found herself lingering on his words, playing his voice over in her head, remembering the way his breath sounded when she was trying to put his armor on him. There was an intensity in him, and in the way he’d begun looking at her, that she felt unequipped to process. She’d started making a point to look at him as little as possible, wanting to avoid the hair-raising spotlight of his gaze.

 

Anders was easy to spot. Sitting on the far end of the bar, he had both barmaids gazing giddily at him while he tossed back what appeared to be the final gulp of a drink. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes sparkling with laughter. He leaned toward one of the barmaids with a smirk, and Solona didn’t need to hear his words to know he was saying something baudy. The laughter of the two women rose over the din of the other patrons, confirming that his charm was hitting its mark. Of all the grizzled and weathered men there, he was effortlessly distinct, practically beaming with a shimmering lifeforce that rendered every other man invisible. One of the women rested her forearms against the bartop, and leaned upon them in a manner clearly designed to give him an eyeful of cleavage. Solona’s stomach sank.

 

Each step down into the barroom fell heavier than the last. Of course she couldn’t compete with those women on looks alone. It would be easier without competition, but despite the easy fantasies she nursed while alone in her room, she wasn’t practiced at flirtation herself. Alistair had been as new to it all as she was, and they’d fumbled through courtship together. Anders, however, was as practised as they come.

 

She sighed and zeroed in on an empty barstool in the middle of the bar as she stepped around occupied tables. In the furthest corner of the room, someone strummed a guitar, then picked at strings as they adjusted their tuning. She cast her eyes around, her gaze stopping on flushed cheeks and wrinkled foreheads, disappointed to see that every male stranger in the room was nearly twice her age, with the hardship of their lives etched deeply into their faces. She hailed the bartender - a fat man with a handlebar mustache - deciding to forego the hard stuff and treat herself with some Nevarran wine. After the man filled her glass, Solona slid a few extra coins across the bar and then motioned for him to leave the bottle.

 

“Sol!” Anders called.

Solona ignored him, taking a long, unhurried drink and letting her nose linger over the lip of the glass. The wine smelled of blackberries and jasmine, almost syrupy sweet but with a bite of something peppery. She took another slow sip, swishing the complex nectar over her tongue, letting it sit before swallowing it down. The calling of her name got louder, but she didn’t respond. Someone behind her had a piercing laugh, clearly delighting in his over-embellished stories. She felt Anders’ energy move, coming closer. Distantly, she felt the others too. Oghren down at another part of the bar. Nathaniel upstairs, motionless in whatever location up there he had chosen. In the back of the room the guitar tuning became the quiet opening chords of a song. She never would have expected such a place to have a bard. Closing her eyes, she took another long drink and tried to block out the dizzying array of sounds and sensations around her. She wouldn’t have had to deal with such busyness out in the forest. But she also wouldn’t have had a warm bath and a clean robe. Her wine was good too.

“Sol?” Anders said, closer now. His body bumped its way between hers and her neighbor, squeezing up to the bar. A deliberate arm landed on her shoulders, a shock to Solona that almost made her jump. She looked over and was almost blinded by the exuberant smile that was shining down on her.

“Anders,” she responded.

‘Sol! You look lovely!”

Solona coughed down her mouthful of wine. “And you’re already drunk.”

“Irrelevant!” he declared with a laugh. “You _suck_ at taking compliments.”

Solona’s cheeks flushed warm, the heavy feeling in her gut replaced by something unexpectedly lighter. He was right of course. Alistair had always said the same thing. “How would you know, you’ve never paid me any.”

Beyond him, the two women were peering through the crowd and whispering to each other, clearly unhappy at having been abandoned.

“Besides,” she continued, “it would be more accurately described as ‘unpractised.’”

“Psshhh…” Anders laughed, his glassy eyes rolling. Solona felt the irresistible urge to beam back at him. Instead she held her tongue and stared. Anders’ arm was still draped around her, his weight leaning against her shoulder. The unexpected closeness and contact, combined with the heady effect of the wine and the flood of memories she had of him made the moment feel surreal. Parading through her mind were those oft-visited images of Anders, looking right through her as she passed him in the library. Whispering as he stole away from an assembly with some pretty girl. Making a whole table of people laugh with some impossibly clever joke while she looked on, a perpetual outsider. She took another deep drink of her wine, emptying her glass. As she poured the next, she realized that her hands were shaking.

“So, what do you think of all that business with the new girl? She killed all those people based on an assumption which she never bothered to verify,” he said. “But you just said _suuuurrreee… join us. We don’t mind.”_

Solona frowned into her wine, and then shrugged. “She thought they took her sister. Besides, we’ve all killed people. _You_ were killing people when I found you.”

“Yeah, templars. That hardly counts,” he snorted.

“Templars aren’t people?”

“Nope!” He laughed drunkenly. She raised an eyebrow.

“Oh come on, Sol. You were in the circle too, right?” he asked, giving her a nudge. Behind him, the two barmaids were moving closer. One had a decidedly predatory look in her eye as she sized up Solona.

“I was, though I didn’t antagonize the Templars like you did. You made yourself a target,” she informed him. On both sides of her were people, and no clear place for the women to insert themselves. _Good._

“Hm, I didn’t take you for a Templar sympathizer,” he said.

“I’m not. But I was smart enough to lay low until I was out of the circle. I’ve killed my fair share since, trust me.”

“Yes,” he nodded as he scrutinized her. Solona recognized the sharp, squinting look as an attempt to place her, somewhere in his memory. Where, surely, he found nothing. “You laid _very low_ , didn’t you?”

She emptied her glass again, and set it down to find Anders holding the bottle, ready to refill. He took the glass, helping himself to another drink before he topped her glass off once more. The bottle was already nearly gone.

“I did. Not always by choice, but it worked for me in the end.”

“Ah, I see. So, forgive me for asking, but… _did_ we know each other in the circle?” Anders asked. He raised his hand and attempted to hail the bartender. Solona felt him tapping distractedly at her shoulder. The bartender ignored Anders as he tended to a man at the end of the bar. Solona took a deep breath.

All at once she remembered that there was really no reason to hold back. The way she looked — whether he _actually_ found her lovely or if he was just brown-nosing; how he responded to her now, how he might respond to the truth of her teenaged infatuation… even if he laughed in her face, what could possibly hurt her now after what she’d already endured? Her heart was gone, ripped from her chest and now residing on the other side, where she would soon join it. And even if it wasn’t, _none of it fucking mattered._ Not in the light of how fleeting every second was. How insignificant every dumb little move and word and desire was in comparison to the shadowy permanence of death, particularly _her_ impending death. Holding back only meant making her last days emptier, more boring than they needed to be. She took another drink.

“No. We didn’t.” The warmth of the liquid spread through her stomach, rising up to lighten the lead weight of her head. She exhaled deeply.“You were too busy fucking every other mage there to notice little old me,” she said. “Not that I can blame you, I guess. I might have done the same in your shoes. Who knows?”

Anders laughed and eyed her for a long moment. Finally he shrugged in admission.

“Anyway, antagonizing the Templars was fun,” he continued, breezing past her remark.

She snorted. “Sure, if you like beatings.”

“I always got a few good jabs in myself,” he smirked, then leaned in close. “But now that you mention it, I don’t mind a bit of roughhousing… under the _right_ conditions.”

Solona studied him closely, his lips curled in that half-smile, his eyes glinting suggestively. Beyond him the barmaids had been intercepted by a thin man whose skin looked like tanned leather. His jangly stance, and the women’s forced smiles made it clear the man had a bit too much to drink and was being a nuisance. One of the women was tall, with wavy red hair and freckles sprinkling her chest. She met Solona’s eyes as she skirted the man and continued toward them. Solona barely tasted the next large gulp of wine as she threw it back, hoping for a quick surge of boldness. She opened her mouth and said exactly what she was thinking.

“You didn’t know me, Anders. But I knew you. And I alway desperately wanted to be one of those mages following you into closets and dark corners.”

Anders’ smile spread. His hand on her shoulder slipped lightly down her back, raising goosebumps over her skin. He eyed her as though gauging her reaction to his touch. She made a point of not pulling away, her stomach going pleasantly queasy.

“Well,” he said after another long moment. He took a drink from her glass and then cleared his throat. “That was a long time ago though, wasn’t it?”

She nodded. The barmaid behind him was no longer visible. Solona breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well don’t I feel like a fool now?” he laughed. “Apparently I had the chance to be with the future Hero of Ferelden. If only I’d known. And here I’d worried that _maybe—”_

 

The crash came from behind, the sound following with adeluge of wet that soaked down her back. Instinctively Solona jumped, her heart immediately in her throat, but there was nowhere to go. Anders pulled away, voices all around her sounded off. She surged forward onto her feet, falling against the bar as her stool clattered to the tavern floor. Pulling at her tether to the Fade, she had lightning tingling her palms before she even finished turning around. Behind her the redhead stood, the beginnings of an apology dying on her lips as her eyes went wide and fell down to the skeins of bright, flashing purple climbing between Solona’s fingers. Tremors of magic reverberated up her arms, ready to meet the incoming assault.

Solona saw no weapons on the woman and looked past her, scanning the crowd for the incoming attackers. _Fuck,_ she’d left her staff up in her room. She should never have been so stupid. There were no other tainted beings nearby; only Anders beside her, Oghren several feet away, and Nathaniel upstairs, who seemed to have moved to a further location. But why would some stranger in a tavern want to attack her? There had been rumors of some sort of conspirator. Tamra had said she’d intercepted letters. Had someone followed them?

Anders placed a calming hand on Solona’s arm. The red head’s cleavage shimmered with wetness, the front of her bodice equally soaked. She held an empty flagon.

“Sol,” Anders warned, his voice low.

Solona’s heart raced furiously, her body flushed with anticipation of a fight.

Anders squeezed her arm. She felt Oghren approaching.

The redhead turned toward someone on the far end of the room. The word she mouthed was unmistakable. _Apostate._

“ _Solona,”_ Anders whispered.

A man with a bulky chest the size of a barrel rushed through the crowd. The redhead stepped aside to let him through.

He eyed Solona angrily and motioned toward the door.. “ _Out!”_

Solona barely heard him over the white noise buzzing in her ears. Nothing made any sense.

The redhead pushed away someone’s offering of a rag and turned instead to whisper something to the man.

“Your friend can stay,” he added, nodding toward Anders.

There was no further movement behind him. Solona studied each face in the crowd as she struggled to take a deep breath. The faces all turned toward her held that typical look of disdain, but no one seemed to be charging. Slowly, the reality of the situation began to penetrate through the fog of wine and adrenaline. The woman had feigned a stumble, surely designed to separate her and Anders. There had been no attack. There was no one here to fight. Solona squeezed off the mana feeding the lightning at her palms, letting the magic sizzle back into nothingness.

The man barked another demand but it seemed lost inside the wall of noise in her head.

Anders stepped before her as the large man took a threatening step forward.

“You don’t want to do that,” he warned the man gently.

“What we don’t _want_ are apostates threatening the patrons or the help,” the man growled.

“She’s not an apostate, she’s —”

A burst of panic energized Solona back into the moment. Didn’t he remember what happened those few times in Amaranthine? The people there were used to her now, but her first visit had been a fucking _nightmare._

She grabbed Anders’ arm and squeezed. “Anders _no—”_

He continued despite her.

“— _the Commander of the Grey Wardens.”_  


Solona released him and sank back toward the bar, a heavy dread infiltrating her stomach. It was too late.

 

The coldness of the ale soaking down the back of her robe made itself known. A low rumble of whispers traveled through the small crowd. Solona’s knees quivered with remnants of unspent adrenaline, her bones wobbling like jelly. She turned around to face the bar and hunched over her glass, emptying the last of the bottle and drinking it down so quickly she tasted nothing.

 

The rest went exactly as it always did.

The barrel-chested man apologized, his once gruff voice now soft with awe and deference. The words _Hero of Ferelden_ were spoken somewhere in the distance. She heard them once, then again and then repeatedly. She felt the eyes on her back as she squeezed the bridge of her nose. A quick motion to the bartender brought him scurrying over. He stopped along the way and selected a dark bottle from under the counter, presenting it to her along with a barrage of effusive praise. He spoke about his daughter, about how they fled the Blight even though they had nowhere to go, how he’d been so sure it was the end until the news of the Warden’s victory finally came. It spilled out of him too quickly for her to respond. She dug in her pocket for coins, but the rosy-cheeked man pushed them back at her. Nodding a thank you, he refilled her glass to the brim.

It took only moments before she heard his name. _Alistair._

Someone squeezed up beside her, questions ready on his lips even as others impatiently called theirs from beyond. Something or someone touched her back. Stools scraped across the floor and all the bodies behind her moved. Words directed at her alternated with those mumbled amongst themselves.

 

_I heard them Wardens took over that Vigil’s Keep. Why’d they do that if the blight’s over?_

_Forget Vigil’s Keep, why’s she_ here?

 _I thought she’d look different than…_ that

_Did you keep any trophies from the archdemon? I’d love to have a dragon head on my wall_

_Is it true that Alistair was the King’s Bastard?_

_The blight’s not over if there’s still darkspawn around_

_Blimey just don’t spill anything on her, I thought Tina was cooked for sure_

_D’ya think the King had any other bastards?_

He _probably protected her, or he’d be the one here…_

_Yep, how’s some little lass like that gonna win a fight with a dragon?_

 

The room seemed to be shrinking. Solona took a deep breath and mumbled one word answers to a drunk man on her right. She accepted flowery praise from a fisherman who reeked of tobacco and rotten fish. She shook the rough, calloused hand of a local farmer and listened to him describe his search for new land after his was razed by darkspawn. She rejected a request to marry someone’s son. She tried to breathe as the faces blurred together, none of them talking to _her_ but to some idea they seemed to project onto her. They spoke sweetly even as they eyed her with suspicion. She didn’t know why there were still darkspawn around. She didn’t know if that had every happened after a blight. She gritted her teeth as they asked about Alistair and pressed for details. Her throat closed up too tight to answer, but the images of the battle, of the blood, of Alistair’s lifeless eyes were already there, emblazoned vividly in her mind. The room got smaller still, the space slowly draining of breathable air. In her ears her heartbeat blared, hammering with unreasonable speed. A vise tightened around her temples. Beside her, Anders stood quietly, occasionally pushing back a few who tried to get too close. His hand at her elbow was warm and soothing, but it wasn’t enough. Solona glanced up to see his brown eyes full of concern.

 

More bodies bumping into her. Rancid breath on her neck as questions rattled off. How could a dozen people feel like a hundred? Her shoulders began to ache with tension. The questions, the praise all felt like demands. _Intrusions._ A scream was building at the base of her throat. She clenched her fists and swallowed it down. The room was too fucking small. She needed to get _out._

“Don’t let anyone follow me,” she said to Anders as she grabbed at the full bottle of wine.

The bodies blurred around her as she pushed through them, her focus on the stairway and the dim light above that led to solitude. Part of her wanted to turn for the front door and escape out into the night, into the stars and the space and the cool, open air. Instead, she held steady; her small frame easily dodging those too slowed by their liquor to turn aside in time.

Upward she climbed, leaving the rumble of activity below. Anders’ voice rose to match the others, first pleading, and then using his charm to placate. Slowly the noise faded into incoherence, replaced by the quiet stillness of the upstairs hall. Each step that carried her further from the chaos had her breathing easier. She passed the door to her room-yet another small space with closed-in walls- and headed straight for the glass double doors at the end of the hall. There was a Warden already out there. Ahead and to the left, the black spot in her consciousness could only have been Nathaniel. But while she would have preferred an empty balcony, retreat to her room was not an option.

She needed space and air and silence.


	9. Nine

The night beyond the double doors greeted Solona with an icy blast to the face. She caught herself just before she impacted the balcony rail, her palm stinging as it hit the iron bar and absorbed the force of her momentum. Open space immediately filled her vision, the sky dotted with a flurry of twinkling stars. Cold expanded inside her lungs and enveloped her body with a shock. She’d been too overwhelmed to address the spill down the back of her robe while inside, but there was no ignoring the chill that spread through the wet spot now. She focused on it, letting the bite of discomfort draw her mind further away from the lingering images of Alistair’s body and the feeling of being crowded into a tiny, airless box. She blinked at the darkness as the white noise in her head began to ebb away.

In the distance murmured the soft waves of the bay and the low howl of wind around treetops. With each breath of the salty air, her constricted throat opened more, allowing her to gulp large, calming breaths. The peace of the night filled her, replacing the claws of panic with a cold numbness. Squeezing her eyes closed she took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders, releasing a shiver as a breeze hit the wetness of her robe.

It took a while for her awareness to turn to the other Warden on the balcony with her.

 _Please don’t say anything,_ she urged silently. The last thing she wanted was another person demanding of her, seeking explanations and answers, stories and energy.

She waited, hoping the fact that she was keeping her back turned was communication enough. Still, she braced herself for whatever he might have to say. One moment bled into another, and then stretched on into the darkness. Only silence answered her anticipation. Eventually the effect of all the wine combined with the dark beauty of the night to pull her deeper into a lull. Her heart slowed, her muscles unclenched one by one. Each blast of the breeze made her shudder, but the woozy cushion of her drunkenness softened the sharpness of the cold. Remembering the bottle in her hand she took a long drink, this wine sweeter and more complex than the last. The bartender must have dug up something special. She’d left her glass back on the bar, and had apparently spilled some on her skirt during her dash up the stairs, but the bottle was still mostly full. She took another gulp and sighed with relief.

Behind her, Nathaniel remained unmoved.

Finally she turned around, half-expecting to see Nathaniel asleep. He was sitting on the floor of the balcony with his back against the building, one arm resting atop a bent knee. The light from the hallway shone through the glass paned doors, outlining his features in a yellow glow. He was gazing at her from the side of his eye, his expression unreadable. His head tilted as he gave her a little nod.

A gust of wind tousled her hair and stung the wet spot on her back, inciting a new convulsion of shivers, while Nathaniel’s hair remained in place, untouched by the wind. Already Solona was missing the balmy warmth of the summer and early fall; when she could spend her evenings under the stars and never have to consider the possibility of plunging temperatures. She sighed, turning to walk toward Nathaniel and the shelter of the building, but paused after several unsteady steps. Clearly he was out there in the first place because he too was avoiding company. She hadn’t seen him since after they’d finished eating, before everyone retreated to their rooms to clean up. He’d not returned to the bar for a drink, or ventured downstairs at all.

The desire to be alone was one she knew well, and not something she could deny anyone.

Taking another long swig, she figured she could at least leave him the wine.

She approached and held the bottle toward him, which he accepted silently. After a parting nod she turned back toward the doors. Down toward the stairwell were a few moving silhouettes, but the length of hall was still empty. Anders and Oghren remained downstairs. She could only hope that the patrons would keep their distance in the morning, though she considered asking if breakfast could just be sent up to her room.

Despite the warmth that issued from the hallway as she pulled the doors open, Solona found herself pausing again before taking the first step back into the building. A twinge constricted her chest at the prospect. Inside it was warm, but still so unpleasantly _enclosed._

Nathaniel’s voice came softly, as if reading her. “Stay.”

She basked in the warmth of the hall for another moment. _If only it wasn’t so bloody cold outside_. She looked back at Nathaniel. All that was visible of his eyes were a dull shine from the hallway light.

“If you want to,” he continued. “Or I can go in if you’d rather have the balcony to yourself.”

Solona released the handle on the door, letting it swing closed under its own weight. She turned and dropped down beside him, almost losing her balance in the process. Her intoxication seemed almost to have been put on hold downstairs, but now was rushing up into her head with a vengeance. The wet part of her robe connected with the stone wall and sent another blast of cold under her skin.

“No, you were here first,” she sighed. “It’s fine.” Her arm brushed his as he set the bottle of wine between them. She glanced over at him to see him already studying her. His dark leathers helped his body melt into the shadow, but where his skin showed she could make out dim details. At least he didn’t seemed annoyed by her presence.

Aside from a few confounding moments that replayed themselves in her memory, most of the night of their attack had faded to the back of her mind. Between hunting down a homicidal elf, getting imprisoned in the underground ruins and facing the emissary, it seemed there was no moment where some new, startling find wasn’t demanding the bulk of her attention. But one of the last nights they’d camped, she woke from one of her usual nightmares to the sensation of him moving around outside her tent. He’d always preferred to sleep out under the stars and beside the fire, so he could tend to it as everyone else slept. This night she felt him traveling the length of camp and back again, over and over. Se’d sat up and followed his movements, listening for any indication of what he might be doing. He went down and back again, with no interruptions or hesitation. The longer she sat awake, the more it seemed he was simply _pacing_.

He clearly had something on his mind. She had the impulse to get up and leave her tent, to see if there was something else happening out there that she should know about. But a strange spell of nerves had come over her that held her in place. That night was particularly chilly, and she'd been clad only in her underclothes and night gown. She was beginning to feel a bit absurd for how she seemed always to be half naked whenever they met.

Instead she laid back and followed him with her mind, trying to ignore the foulness of the sensation of him, the so aptly-named _taint_ that they all shared. She’d thought of his thumb on her cheek. Of his eyes penetrating to her core as they stared her down in the Deep Roads. How strong his body was, his muscle firm and hot under hands as she worked on his leathers. And how confusing it was that there were those little moments of affection peppering all his otherwise sarcastic statements.

He was a bit of a mystery.

Even now, as she couldn’t help but notice. He’d asked her nothing and had spent the whole night alone. She had the impulse to ask him what was on his mind, but bit her tongue. She didn’t like that question when it was posed to her, and always lied when someone truly expected an answer.

Still, he had invited her to stay. She took another drink of the wine and instead of setting it down, held it lightly against his arm.

“Have you had any yet? It’s the good stuff,” as she spoke her tongue felt unexpectedly thick. She was on the verge of slurring. “Only the best for the fucking _Hero of Ferelden.”_

Stifling a hiccup, she let her head fall back to rest against the wall. It was beginning to feel heavy. Or perhaps her neck had grown weak. The night around her wobbled, on the verge of beginning to spin. At least a decent bottle of wine wouldn’t make her feel sick like her shitty Brandy sometimes did.

“Thank you, Solona.”

She closed her eyes and rolled her head to look toward him. The bottle flashed yellow light as he lifted it, the bones of his hand lined in shadow. His voice echoed in her mind. Her name sounded so good when he said it.

“Mmm…” he grunted approvingly.

She paused, her attention caught by a shooting star streaking across the sky. The thought she’d had down at the bar before everything there went to shit came back to her. _No point in holding back._ And there wasn’t any point, really, was there? Had Anders run for the hills when she’d told him how she wanted to be the one sneaking away with him? No, he hadn’t. His reaction had actually been quite… approving. But then whatever possibility there was for a roll in the hay with him had been squelched. He probably wouldn’t want her now anyway, after seeing what a basket case she could be. Almost frying that woman for her stupid trick.

With the fear of that moment now lifted, it actually seemed funny. The look on that woman’s face when she realized she’d fucked with the wrong mage was priceless. Solona snorted a quiet laugh. No, as long as she wasn’t intruding into personal affairs, she should just make bluntness her new policy. Officially.

From here forward, Solona Amell was going to say whatever the fuck she felt like saying. _No time like the present_. She took a breath and let her gaze linger on Nathaniel. He looked so at home in the darkness.

“Say my name again,” she asked. She closed her eyes, wanting to drink the sound in.

Nathaniel jerked his head toward her. She waited, aware that he was probably confused by the question.

“Solona?”

“Hmm-hmm,” she responded.  There was something about the way he seemed to almost breathe the word more than speak it.

She opened her eyes and took him in as well as she could in the dim hallway light. Flashes of him shirtless surfaced from her memory. The surprising cut of his muscle, the unexpected heat of his skin. She’d been avoiding looking at him for the past few days but suddenly couldn’t remember why.

Until she met his eyes, and there it was again. That intense stare was so full of… _something._ Something like what she remembered seeing from Alistair. It had hit her too hard, traveling down to her toes until it upended the ground beneath her. She could only think of one thing that it could mean, but that still didn’t make sense. Her reaction this time was numbed by the wine, and by the faint glint of amusement in his eye.

“Solona,” he said again, his lip curling. Had she ever seen him smile?

She let out a slight laugh that faded into a drunken sigh.

“You’ve been so quiet the past few days,” she observed. As she said it she realized he’d never been much of a talker, but there was a new weight to his silence.

“I’ve… had a lot on my mind,” he responded, confirming what she’d heard that night in the tent.

She nodded. Of course that could be anything. Talking darkspawn. A dalish murderess joining the group. Facing down the possibility of being eaten alive by a pack of wolves. That would weigh heavily on anyone. She was already too weighed down with other things to feel it herself.

He took another drink from the bottle, and again saw a flash of his hand. That was it too, the very hand that had been crushed and chewed on. Had they not had a healer present he probably would have lost it completely. Or even lost his life because of it. Infection and blood loss could be a death sentence.

But here it was, no longer that pulpy mass that she could hardly bring herself to look at. The skeleton and nerves all returned to their places, the flesh healed and whole. Nathaniel offered her the bottle and she shook her head. As good as the wine was, she was already feeling the full strength of its effect. If she had much more she might not be capable of coherent conversation. And she’d rather avoid passing out on him.

Mindlessly, she grabbed his hand and pulled it into her lap. It was warm and dry and his fingers responded to her touch immediately, grasping her hand as though he thought she intended to lace her fingers into his. Instead she held it open and inspected it, his pale skin cast gold from the brazier on the other side of the door.

She pressed along the lines of his bones, feeling their solid sharpness. He had a light coating of dark little hairs on his knuckles that she only barely saw. She tested and squeezed, superimposing her memory of how crushed they’d been. Bone and muscle and flesh, warmed from inside by some fleeting internal flame. That flame had come so close to being snuffed out. And now, here beneath her touch it was whole again. Because of magic. Because of Anders.

“It’s amazing that Anders can do this,” she mused. “This hand was so destroyed….”

Nathaniel was quiet. Solona glanced up to see his head bowed and eyes slightly glazed. He watched her fingers trace the skeleton under his skin. Turning his hand over to his palm, she traveled the hills and valleys of his flesh with her fingertips. She felt him shudder and realized she was probably tickling him. She wasn’t sure why she felt so free to take these liberties, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“And now it’s back to normal,” she finished with a sigh. Another thought invaded then, a return to what she’d been thinking about earlier in the night. The things bodies could do. The pleasure they felt. It was just a bunch of cells arranged in a variety of configurations. But together the cells made a person. Or at least the vessel _for_ a person. And two people could join together and create _magic._ Probably the only kind of magic that a non-mage could ever know. A specific type that likely couldn’t be recreated in the Fade. She pressed her palm against Nathaniel’s, losing herself for a moment in the heat of his skin.

“It’s not actually,” Nathaniel answered throatily.

Solona paused. “What?”

“It’s not back to normal,” he said. With his other hand he directed hers up to two of his fingers. She felt dry, curled flakes on the last two digits, one of which was covered by tape.

“My draw fingers. The skin there used to be impenetrable,” he explained. “A decade of drawing bowstrings and I had callouses thick enough to withstand a razor blade.”

Solona squeezed lightly where he directed. The flaked off skin must have been the craters of popped and dried blisters. She located numerous patches of them, circular and raw. The skin gave easily under her pressure.

“And now they’re soft again,” she observed.

“Soft as a baby’s arse,” he laughed. “So if my aim’s been a bit off lately, blame Anders.”

“Yeah, but—” she began, but he cut her off.

“Yeah, yeah, he fixed it, him and his amazing healing magic,” Nathaniel mocked softly. “But for the record I don’t credit him for that. I credit you.”

Solona sat quietly for a moment, absorbing the papery texture of his fingers. She’d felt a few times how tightly those bows were strung. It was no surprise that there’d be damage if one wasn’t accustomed. It occurred to her how strangely natural it felt to have his hand in her lap. She could only imagine it was because they’d already been forced so close for survival. Even though already that night felt like a lifetime ago.

“Don’t you have one of those… leather pad things? Leliana had one. Finger tabs?”

“Yes, back at the Keep. But it’s annoying to wear all of the time,” he explained. “And I don’t always have time to stop and put it on before a battle anyway.”

Solona nodded.

“I’ve also lost all my scars,” he added.

“Well…” she asked as she shifted her position. She shuddered as she recentered her back against the frigid wall behind her. “That’s not so bad, is it?”

“I suppose not, but it’s strange to look down and not see them,” he said. “My own hand looks so foreign to me now.”

He turned his hand back over and rubbed his thumb below the knuckle of his pointer finger. “I had a big one right here from one of my father’s birds.”

Solona brought his hand closer to her face, trying to get a better look at the skin. As far as she could tell, it was flawless.

“Mistreating the ravens, were you?”

Nate laughed, a sultry rumble. “Yes, actually. I had it in my head that I was going to kill one after a fight I had with Thomas.”

Solona sat quietly and waited for him to continue.

“Thomas is — _was—_ my younger brother. He loved those blighted birds. Father always let him bring the letters in once one of them arrived with a message. He was completely convinced those birds loved him back,” Nathaniel laughed. “They’d caw and flap and make a big fuss whenever they saw Thomas coming, but that was only because he took pockets full of table scraps up to them. That’s all they were waiting for.”

“So… you wanted to hurt your brother?”

“Well… yes.”

“Why?”

“Father… had started letting Thomas read the correspondence. He was discussing business things with him, things _I_ should have been privy to if it was going to be anyone. I was the oldest son!”

A slight crack had crept into Nathaniel’s voice. His fingers closed lightly around hers, drawing her attention away from the sharp lines of his profile. She opened her hand to let him pull it back. The warmth of his hand on her thigh dissipated, ushering in a new wave of shivers.

“Go on,” Solona urged. In her mind she could see the rookery on the western roof of the Keep. She hadn’t gone up there much, though occasionally she could hear the resident birds when she was laying on her watchtower.

“Anyway, I…” Nathaniel sighed. “Thomas always fed them, so I thought, a little bit of poison in their seed, a bird or two dies and then maybe father will think it was Thomas’ fault. Maybe then he’ll think twice about letting a thirteen year old have responsibilities that he didn’t even allow his first heir.”

Solona closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her whole body felt numb with cold and wine. The panic she’d felt down at the tavern was gone. Nathaniel’s voice smoldered softly in her ear. For the moment at least, everything in the world felt fine again.

She felt herself laugh as her mind returned again to Nathaniel’s story.

“And instead a bird bit you!”

He took a long drink out of the bottle and then snorted.

“And clawed. There was blood. A lot of it.”

More laughter bubbled up from deep in her chest. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but pleasant all the same. Solona felt herself being studied.

“Yes, well it’s funny _now,”_ he conceded. “It wasn’t then. Those things bite hard!”

“So that was your scar?”

“Yes, I was too ashamed to get it treated, so it got infected,” he answered.

“And, were you successful at killing those poor innocent birds?” Solona teased tiredly.

“No. But while I was trying to figure out what to do a bunch of them escaped. I bled onto the roof, which incriminated me later after they saw my bite. It was a disaster,” he sighed. Solona could hear a smile in his voice.

“Well, but they came back, right? I mean, that’s what they do in the first place,” Solona asked. Nathaniel shrugged.

“I assume they did. I wasn’t there to see it. Mother and father decided to send me to the Marches shortly after. I think that helped them decide,” he said. “Before that I was merely in the way. After, I was a _liability._ ”

Solona nodded and looked down at her own hands. It struck her that she really didn’t pay much attention to them. Her nails were jagged; chipped and uneven. Her right palm sported a few rough, firm patches of skin from where her staff would rub during battle. She laughed softly as she recalled how raw and sore it had gotten back in the circle, after she’d started training with her staff for the first time. She’d dropped that damn thing constantly, and had even shattered a moonstone off the staff head of one once. When she’d been learning how to effectively swing it to build magical momentum she’d had quite a few blisters break open between her thumb and pointer finger.

“Do you feel it?” Nathaniel’s soft voice was closer than it had been. “The magic, when it comes out?”

Solona shook her head. His hand emerged from the darkness and cupped the back of hers, his thumb trailing lightly over a line on her palm. Hair rose on her neck, sending a tremor tickling down her back.

“Not at all?”

“Well, it doesn’t really come out of my skin. It emerges from the Fade, here around my hands and just feels like… energy,” she said. “Like a river of it breaking through a dam and pouring out. The energy already exists elsewhere. We mages don’t create it. We just… set it free, and shape it into something else as it escapes.”

“Is it pleasant?”

His shoulder brushed against hers. It was unclear whether he was leaning in, or if she’d begun to slide toward him, but she made no move to pull away.

“Yes,” she answered. “Very.”

Solona turned her head to find his only inches away, facing forward and bowed low. His hand remained against the back of hers, his thumb just barely resting against her palm.

Following her impulse, Solona pulled her hand away and went for the wine. She took a long drink — this one _really_ her last — and grabbed his hand again. Pressing his palm against hers she reached toward the Fade with her mind, feeling that constant leash to its well of mana. It took a moment to suppress her instinct to shape the energy, with both ice and electric coming as easily as a breath. Instead she quieted that inner conductor, closing her eyes for a moment to center herself, and corral a skein of the raw energy that existed just beyond the veil.

Power trembled the air before her palm, growing into a shimmering corona that engulfed Nathaniel’s hand. Closing the channel down into a harmless but palpable trickle, she glanced over at him. The sensation of his palm against hers had disappeared, overwhelmed by the current of energy, but she felt his body tense slightly in response. His bent knee straightened, his boot scraping against the balcony as he adjusted his position.

What little she could see of Nathaniel revealed his eyes wide, his lips parted as he stared down.

“Do you feel it?” she asked. He swallowed audibly and nodded.

Solona waited another few minutes, that energy mingling with his warmth as he moved his fingers around. After another long moment she closed off the stream of magic and felt him relax as it diminished.

Her next glance at him made her heart skip.

Those eyes were trained on her again, veiled mostly by shadow but still so infernally intense. She inhaled a gulp of cold and pulled her hand away. He certainly was _close._ And warm. A new impulse took the reins of her mind, tugging her toward his lips. Parted and full, they hovered so near. _It would be so easy…_

She took another breath. Unbidden images flooded her.

To kiss. To pull his arms around her and melt into his chest. To trace the lines of his body with her fingertips and hear his voice cry out in the dark. Her teeth clenched against the startling desire.

The moment seemed to stretch into eternity.

This was it, wasn’t it? What she’d been thinking about before she’d even left her room? Bodies and skin and sweet, delicious heat? Using this vessel of flesh however she could until it was time to depart it entirely? A quake of nerves upturned her gut, while slowly an ache began to spread, constricting her chest with a tightening grip.

She looked away from him, needing to get more air. This was too different. This wasn’t Anders or some faceless nobody. It wasn’t even someone she’d ever considered and yet, there it was. And it didn’t feel like something light and easy like what she’d imaged. If anything, it felt like a betrayal. She exhaled a shaky breath and looked into the dark ahead. She wasn’t trying to get into anything complicated or messy. Anders was practiced at this sort of thing. He’d already fucked half of Vigil’s Keep and still walked around with those same people day after day.

Nathaniel sat up straighter. His shoulder slipped off hers.

“Do you…” He cleared his throat, but his voice remained raspy. “Would you like the last of it?” He held the nearly empty bottle toward her. She shook her head quickly. Solona felt torn between two different possibilities. She could run back to her room. She _should_ run back to her room. It would be so much easier with someone she didn’t know, someone whose eyes she wouldn’t have to look into the next day. Unless it was someone practiced.

Or she could stay. And then what? Sit in awkward silence? Or perhaps just talk. Talk until this foolish impulse disappeared.

Nathaniel shifted beside her again.

“Are you all right, Solona?”

The sound of his words, the way he said her name, traveled straight down into the core of her, inflaming the burn in her chest.

“I’m sorry, I think the wine is going to my head,” she murmured. Pulling her feet in, she braced herself against the wall and prepared to climb to a stand. With her heart racing against her ribs, everything else felt shaky. She shook off the images of Alistair that surfaced. Their first kiss, so clumsy and earnest, had made her tremble with nerves the same way she was now, which only further soured the ache radiating inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

Alistair, sweet Alistair. _He_ was he one she loved, now and forever. Nothing should be allowed to obscure that fact.

Somehow Nathaniel was up before her, his hand extended. Before she had a chance to think better of it she took it. Strong and solid, he guided her up. His fingers, closed around hers felt downright illicit now; she knew it was ridiculous.

Surely everything would look different in the morning when her head was clear.

The next movements were a blur. A quick good night. A thank you. Steps, one by one, dragging and unbalanced down the hallway. The indulgent heat of the indoors making her wonder why she waited so long to come inside. Space and solitude returned her rapidly to what felt like her normal state. Nathaniel still behind her outside the door. She could feel him just outside the double-doors. He could only have been watching?

Solona confirmed this as she turned the knob and with a final nod toward his silhouette. The walls spun around her, the fireplace cold and grey and stinking of ash. She kicked a new log into it and blasted with a fireball. The excessive force of the fire impacted hard, sending a plume of ash to sting her eyes and invoke a sneeze. Without removing her boots, she tumbled into bed, letting her limbs flop numbly over the covers.

Dimness closed in. Visions of Alistair mixed and merged with those of Nathaniel as the room spun. It seemed she’d stored many snapshots of Nathaniel away somewhere, each patiently waiting in the dark corners of her mind to present themselves at some appropriate moment. Mercifully the theatre of images and feelings did not last long. Sleep fogged them into a nonsensical confusion. Faces, lips, bodies moving together, finding a rhythm that increased with a tumult of sensations, and then motionlessness and rest. And then darkness.

She was deep in a sleep when the knock at the door came. She ignored it when it first sounded off, assuming it was another of the dreams rattling around her mind. Moaning, she turned and settled back into a new position, waiting for unconsciousness to find her again. But the knock came a second time, jolting her fully into the cramped space of her room. The fire was low, but not gone. She opened her eyes and felt a tightness at her temples, but the whole room listed as she turned over and blinked. The wine was still strong in her veins. And beyond the door, a Warden. The taint was a physical presence at her mind, pulling her more and more back into the waking world.

Solona sat up and rubbed at her eyes. Her arm was sore, biting with the sting of lack of blood flow and an unfavorable position. Behind the door the presence remained. The blackness that had erased the strange amalgamation of Nathaniel and Alistair faded, and she stared dumbly at the door.

On her feet, the room swayed. She fell back onto her bed and had to hoist herself upward a second time. Dragging herself toward the door, she decided it could only be Nathaniel. Had she left something on the balcony? Her stomach twitched and churned in anticipation, not sure why he was coming to her now, and not particularly caring. Maker’s breath his eyes were tormenting her. _That_ was why she hadn’t been able to look at him in days. Why she’d been keeping her head down more than usual, forcing the memory of the hours after their attack out of her mind anytime she had any inclination to revisit them.

The doorknob was smooth and cool and she turned it anxiously. Her heartbeat fluttered in her throat. The door opened.

Leaning against the doorframe, his face drawn into a familiar smirk, was Anders.


	10. Ten

Solona stared at Anders for a long moment, waiting for him to explain his appearance at the door. She cleared her throat, the force of her scowl increasing the pounding in her head.

“Yes?” she asked impatiently. “What do you need?”

Anders straightened his stance and shrugged: a loose, jangly motion that betrayed his own intoxication.

“Just need to make sure you’re okay,” he said finally. “Sorry it took me so long to come check on you. I was, uh —”

Solona waved off the rest of his answer and grumbled as she turned away. “I know what you were doing.”

_ Enjoying the attentions of the barmaids again. Reveling in the fame and prestige of being a Warden. _

“Besides, you didn’t need to come. I’m fine.” Casting her eye toward her bedside table, she searched the darkness for something new to drink. Water, preferably, to clear the sourness out of her mouth and ease the constriction in her temples. She left the door open as she walked back toward her bed and squinted down at the table tops. The fireplace held only a rash of glowing orange coals, hardly enough to illuminate the minute details of her possessions, but sufficing at least to outline shapes and lend a dreamy surreality to the room. She sensed Anders moving closer and a second later the door clicked closed.

Anders chuckled. It was a warm, forgiving sound. “Well it seems like you’re back to normal.”

Solona turned back toward him in time to see the flash of his outstretched flask. “Looking for this?” he asked.

“Nope.” The last thing she wanted was something guaranteed to make her headache worse.

Locating a pitcher beside the basin on the far side of the room, Solona dragged herself toward it. Tepid and tasting of dust, the water filled her belly, squelching for the moment the earliest rumblings of hunger. She swished water around her mouth and swallowed while wiping cool drippings off her chin. The cloud of sleep distorting her awareness began to part, revealing more memory of the night in quick flashes. She’d thought, even maybe hoped a little bit, that the knock on the door might have been Nathaniel. It seemed like something alien inside her, a wanting that must have originated in the fading dream of her drunken sleep. But again she saw his face as she’d sat beside him on the balcony, his eyes reflecting a shine of light from the hall beyond the glass door. Even just the memory of it was enough to sting with a visceral reaction.

It was a little exciting to have someone looking at her like that again. But also nauseatingly frightening.

All at once she remembered Anders at the bar, his fingers trailing down her back. Her casually delivered confession. That too had felt good. And before then, sitting at her chair by the mirror, her body shooting with the reawakening a vague but carnal desire. She felt it again, a flush of wanting as immediate as her memory. Things like this drove people to stupidity.

But then, did she really care about being smart anymore?

Except now Anders was actually  _ here _ . Standing feet away, his purpose unmistakable. Coming to her room wasn’t something he’d ever done before, and that hadn’t been her first close call with a panic attack while in his company. Solona focused bleary eyes on him and sized him up. Somehow he seemed less intimidating in this moment, filtered through a residual haze of sleep and wine. His robe was slightly wrinkled, and the shadow of stubble on his jaw had already darkened since the morning. His honey colored hair bulged out of his off-center ponytail. The bulky shadow of him swayed on his feet as he drank from his flask, apparently not ready to give it up for the night yet.

Numbness spread like ice-water over her body. She recalled her new policy of  _ not holding back. _

Except, apparently, when it came to Nathaniel. It hadn’t seemed so simple with him.

Taking a breath she strode toward Anders, placing herself directly in front of him and studying his face. “I guess the red-head decided to warm someone else’s bed tonight?” Solona asked. Anders' eyes brightened, his smirk spreading.

“Jealous?” he asked. Replacing the topper, he pocketed his flask.

Solona snorted. “I’ve lived with you for over a month now, Anders, and in all that time you haven’t slept alone once, except at camp when you have no choice. Why should that bother me now?”

Anders snickered. “I see you’ve been keeping track of my activities.”

Solona crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head. “It’s hardly a secret to anyone. You're not exactly a master of discretion.”

“It’s not my fault that joining the Wardens came with so many…  _ changes.”  _ Anders retorted with a laugh. “I thought it was bad enough back in the circle, but I wasn’t prepared for how much all my… appetites would intensify.”

Anders took another slow step toward her. There was little space left between them.

“Is it true for you? Or is it because you’ve been a Warden for so long now that you don’t have these needs?” he asked. His breath was a warm breeze on her collarbones. “Does this go away after a while?”

Heat bloomed across Solona’s cheeks, making her glad for the low light. Remembering how torturous it had been being separated from Alistair even for a few hours, it seemed impossible to believe that once unrelenting desire could have gone away at all. But it had. Grief was a strange and powerful thing.

“I don’t exactly know how it works,” she answered honestly. “Duncan, the man who recruited me – who could have taught us more about these things – died the day after my joining,” she said. “The only other Warden I knew then was relatively new himself. We didn’t have time to ask many questions.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Anders answered. It sounded genuine, but also disappointed. He sighed, pausing for a heartbeat. His glassy eyes slid down the length of her.

“Well, to answer  _ your  _ question,” he continued. “The red-head made quite the case for keeping me company tonight. Begged, in fact.”

“And instead… you came to my room,” she finished. After a heavy pause, he nodded.

“I came to see if there was any way I could improve my Commander’s evening.” Solona heard the slight beginnings of a slur in his words. Not that he’d ever needed liquor to aid his boldness before.

“After all, that hubbub downstairs was  _ my  _ fault, so,” he sighed, “it’s really the least I can do.”

The flush of warmth spread from Solona’s cheeks down into her belly. The last of her sleepiness was gone, though wine still lightened her head and made the images before her eyes swim. It would have been easy to believe this was all a dream, especially as she studied the image of him, taking in all the familiar details of the face she’d swooned over for so long. That smirk, those caramel eyes locked upon her in the same manner she’d seen directed at so many others. How many times had her stomach sank at his satisfied grin while he and another stole hand-in-hand out a doorway, headed to some dark corner? Or the supply room each floor of the circle had? The one on the third floor even had a line of cabinets that had been pulled away from the wall so that a bedroll could be laid out behind them. The cabinets were tall enough to obscure where the ceiling ended and the wall began, with only enough space on one end for a side-turned body to ease itself through. For as long as she’d been in the circle the Templars had never discovered that little secret nook. The rumor was that Anders had  _ created _ that space, but gave everyone else free reign to use it whenever it was unoccupied.  _ Stain the bedroll and you replace it  _ had been the rule.

And now, here was Anders in her private quarters, slowly closing the distance between them while sporting that same, tell-tale grin. A sharp pang of anticipation thrilled through her. Consciously, she squeezed out the image of Alistair, the quiet nagging in the back of her mind of how hurt her true love would be.

_ But this is different,  _ she informed that voice.  _ This is meaningless. Merely an overdue visit to the supply room. _

Still a twinge of discomfort joined the excitement deep inside her belly.

“How about a massage?” Anders asked as he stepped around her. “You look… tense.”

His hands landed warm and heavy on her shoulders and immediately began to squeeze in soft circular motions that migrated inward toward her neck. The tension he remarked upon immediately became apparent as even light pressure stung with soreness. Once his thumbs pressed deep into her tightly-wound trapezius, Solona hissed involuntarily, her body stiffening.

“Damn, Sol,” Anders purred in her ear. “You really  _ do _ need this.”

Softening the pressure, he continued on, but the warmth in his hands became something more. A slight blue glow radiated in her periphery, along with a gentle buzz that she knew to be his healing. Almost against her will, her muscles began to uncoil, her limbs seeming to drop lower and lower with each pass of his hands. She relaxed back into his touch as spasms of tension gave way to a liquid looseness. A low moan escaped her throat as a wash of relief spread down her body and threatened to buckle her knees.

Without warning the warmth was gone and the weight of his hands lifted. Solona jerked dazedly forward to keep herself upright.  _ Maker’s fucking breath. _

A scrape of wood sounded off behind her, followed by a gentle tugging on her waist.

“Sit,” Anders whispered. She obeyed, allowing herself to be directed to a nearby chair . She fell into it with a quick glance up to Anders’ face. His satisfaction in her quick surrender was evident in his curled lip and glinting brown eyes. Solona sighed and once again smothered the quiet chiding in the back of her mind.  _ If Alistair hadn’t left me here alone he could do this himself,  _ she reminded it.  _ But he did leave me, didn’t he? _

Anders’ hands returned and pushed her slightly forward before dragging firmly down the cord of flesh running parallel to her spine. Along the way he stopped and worked small circles at the few remaining knots, luring another small whimper from her throat. It was almost lost on her what was actually happening; Anders’ practiced hands and soothing magic working quickly to complete her immersion into an unexpected trance. He added his own satisfied grunt as he reached low and pressed the palm of his hand against the small of her back. A warm tickle radiated out from his touch, raising goosebumps up her arms and neck. Solona exhaled a long drag of breath, releasing the last bits of stiffness in her posture, her body pooling into a formless mass against his palms.

As his hands pulled across the meat of her shoulder, he moved his body to her side, his fingers caressing light magical bursts down her upper arm.

“It’s a shame there’s so much clothing between us,” Anders laughed softly as he tugged on the sleeve of her robe. The throaty note in his voice traveled straight down into the root of her, stoking a fiery tingle between her thighs. Solona let her head fall back against the chair, wondering why she wasn’t rising right then to rip off her damned robe and let him just have at it. But the nagging at the back of her mind remained, resisting her attempt to smother it completely. She wanted this, certainly. Her body burned for it, for...  _ something.  _ But Anders had been a God among men back in the circle, and had clearly continued to indulge in his exploits since gaining his freedom. How many people had Anders taken to bed? Could he even answer such a question? And how disappointed might he be by a plain, inexperienced girl who’d only ever had one lover in her life?

She shook the thought away, but made no move to hurry things along. The pleasure of his touch eclipsed the quaking nerves beneath her growing arousal. She took a deep breath and tracked his shadow as he picked up her arm, wrapping his hands around it entirely and squeezing deep relief into her forearms. He worked with a sensual precision, his knowledge of anatomy clearly informed by his role as healer. Lured deeper into a lull, Solona resisted the urge to close her eyes and float away into a blissful sleep.

His fingers moved to a whisper around her wrist, caressing their way into her palms and then pulling outward toward her fingertips. In her daze she revisited the balcony and Nathaniel’s hand against hers, his fingers so recently upon her where Anders’ were now. Both men had a touch that was light yet sure, hands that were capable of uniquely astonishing feats. While Anders could mend flesh and erect impenetrable barriers around comrades, Nathaniel’s deft fingers could tease open the most complicated lock with supernatural quickness. The pins always seemed to slide instantly into the perfect place and turn without a trace of fumble, or any suspect noise. There was never a wasted moment standing idle in wait for a door to open or a chest to give up its contents. He could draw and nock an arrow almost faster than the eye could follow. It was this that had convinced her of his necessity to the Wardens, beyond just his impassioned plea that he be allowed to join.

Solona’s lids drooped closed and for a moment the touch at her her arm registered as Nathaniel’s. Shivers alighted up her back, bringing with it the echo of the archer’s rich baritone in her ear. A low moan escaped her throat; Anders breathed a quiet, approving laugh.

Forcing herself back into the moment, she watched calmly as Anders placed her arm in her lap and stepped around her before dropping to a kneel at her feet. A light fluttering touch tickled against her shins as he pulled boot laces free from their knots. Each moment that dragged by increased the thumping of her heart; the anticipation beginning to cut through the woozy trance of his healing massage. Shivers traveled up from the new source of his touch, reverberating through her knees and deep into her hips. She sat forward in the chair, her body feeling light yet unwieldy, heat and hunger building into a delicious urgency. Her fingers itched to reach for him, to grab his head and smash her mouth to his. But he leaned out of her reach as he slid off a boot, his smile seeming to betray the deliberation of his slow pace.

Her boots removed, Anders’ fingers teased up the bare skin of her ankle before the warmth of his palm spread firm and broad around her calf. Solona squirmed in her seat, torn between wanting to sink into the soothing sensation of his touch, and in obeying the growing need between her legs. Sitting forward more, Solona prepared herself to grab him.

“Sit back,” Anders ordered softly. “There is nothing you need to do right now other than let me take care of you.”

A nervous laugh bubbled out of her throat. Her cheeks burned, the hunger of her body growing more insistent by the moment. Anders raised a brow and retracted his hands, waiting. Reluctantly, she obeyed and lowered herself against the back of the chair.

She watched entranced as Anders lifted her leg with one hand, and pushed the hem of her robe up onto her lap with the other. The warmth of his touch at her ankle was replaced by hot breath as he laid an open mouthed kiss on the inside of her calf, the tip of his tongue tracing an agonizing line up toward her knee. Graceful fingers scored up the softness of her thighs, Anders' lip curled with satisfaction, a faint shine glittering his caramel irises. Solona’s back arched slightly as another kiss came higher up, his lips sliding warmly against an impossibly sensitive patch of skin and sending hot tingles into the deepest recesses of her belly. Anticipating the next kiss, Solona stiffened, but instead came a gentle pinch from his teeth, along with a new effusion of soothing magic from his fingertips. Gasping as she sank back against the chair, warm shivers cascaded over her, her legs opening as her thighs went slack, her focus drawn into the sweet aching at their apex. Each flutter of Anders' tongue against her skin caused her to open more for him, welcoming him in as deep as he desired to go.

The waves of soothing magic, and the low glow of fireplace coals imbued the room with a surreal quality that had Solona repeatedly grasping for confirmation she was not merely lost to some fantastic dream. Her eyes traveled the lines of Anders jaw as it moved slowly against her skin, studying the contours of his cheek, the lush pout of his lips. Stubble scraped the sensitive flesh of her thighs, leaving behind a pleasant sting to mark his trail. His eyes flashed darkly up at her, locking onto hers with a sharpness that belied his drunkenness. Palms scored up her thighs, reaching deeply under her robe with exploratory caresses. In a quick move, the weight of the robe in her lap lifted as buttons revealed themselves undone and parted, the opened flaps pushed aside while Anders pressed himself deeper between her legs.

His mouth, hot and hungry, consumed its way up until mere inches separated him from the black satin of her panties. There he paused, hovering, his chest heaving. Reaching deeper forward, one hand pressed between one buttock and the chair, gathering up a handful of her flesh. His other hand trailed lightly over a hip bone, before resting heavily against her inner thigh. Solona gulped air, her skin searing with the need for more of him, her fingers aching with the force of their grip on the chair’s arms. She held her back stiffly, ready to rush him and straddle his lap, eager for the promise of his advances to be delivered.

His face lit up with his smirk again. He tilted his head. “ _ Sit back.” _

Solona let out a shaky exhalation and forced herself back against the chair. Her limbs quivered, her teeth gnawing at the flesh of her lower lip. Anders made no move to come closer, his glassy eyes glinting with amusement. Puffs of breath whispered against her thighs. One of his thumbs slipped under the hem of her panties and ran lightly along its line.

“Stop teasing me, Anders,” Solona gasped.

Anders’ brow raised. “Is that an order, Commander?”

Solona nodded, her eyes rolling closed as the slow movement of his thumb sent peals of heat directly to her sex. She suppressed the urge to buck toward him, her head lolling against the chair as something deep in her belly contracted and released. Eyes closed, she heard a small laugh.

She cried out audibly when his mouth landed on its target, the black satin still separating the heat of his mouth from the throbbing cluster of nerves embedded between her folds. Anders groaned, his tongue flicking against her panties and tickling the aching flesh beneath. Solona rolled back on her hips, opening her legs and positioning herself for optimal contact. Anders’s fingers dug into her buttock, the other hand clutching the flesh over her hip. The stubble of his jaw penetrated the satin, scraping against her as heat bloomed across her panties with his every breath. Finally came the pinching scrape of teeth, the satin lifted away, leaving her torturously untouched. A glance downward revealed Anders’ eyes closed, her panties pulled away from her body and disappeared into Anders’ mouth as he sucked the fabric. A hungry, sultry moan reverberated into her thighs.

Solona rolled her hips again, that reawakened Warden lust buzzing through every raw nerve in her body, threatening to rock her forward and force satisfaction. The dark spaces of the room spun and wavered in her vision, the need to obey her desire overpowering any slivers of sober coherency. Anders’ hands jerked, her body jolted with the sound of a harsh tear, her undergarments a flying shadow that disappeared into a corner of the room. 

And then his mouth again, open and unhindered, suckling at the flesh between her legs. Solona found his hair, her fingers quickly lost in silky tangles. His head bobbed as he pushed her thighs wider, and then yanked her hips forward. First his tongue, sliding firmly deep into her slit and dragging upward, before delivering several measured lashes against the aching pearl of nerves. Solona writhed against him, the heat of his mouth a revelation after months and months of nothing.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he growled, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of her hips and yanking her further forward. The painful force of his hands a welcome reminder that  _ this is happening. _ Solona’s head fell back against the chair again and she let herself be opened, surrendering to his mouth and hands.

Time and space swirled into an infinity as Anders suckled, his tongue dancing expertly within her, lips closing around her clitoris. Hungry moans vibrated deep into her flesh; Solona bucked against them, her inner walls contracting with building need. The tie of his ponytail fell away, releasing golden waves to fall forward and obscure his face. Gathering handfuls of it up, Solona steadied his head with the reins of his hair, letting her hips rock against the rhythm he set with his tongue. His brows knitted in concentration, his lashes fluttering against his cheek; Solona was stunned away from the growing wave of ecstasy in her body by the beauty of Anders’ face, lost and devoted to the giving of pleasure. The earring she’d given him flashed a faint glow of light. Something bubbled up inside her that felt alarmingly like a laugh, but emerged as another feral cry as he nipped and lunged forward, driving himself hard, deeper against her. Simultaneously his fingers sent out a crawling web of sparks that tingled up her skin and toward her center, teasing out a new wall of beautiful sensation. Her body quaked, the sweetness between her legs intensifying until she felt every cell within her drawn toward her center. Her muscles tensing as she clawed Anders, desperately urging him closer,  _ deeper. _

When the implosion came, Solona’s vision burst into a changing tapestry of white. Her chest heaving, the only thing she could do was steady herself while it washed over her, drowning out the dull awareness of the taint, roaring over the voices in her head and the twinge in her chest. The vision of Anders ebbed into darkness, their forms reduced to mere undulations of nerves and flesh.

An eternity came and passed, the end looping back into a new beginning and carrying her deeper into a blissful delirium.

When finally stillness and silence grew louder than her body, Solona opened her eyes. Sitting back on his heels, Anders observed her with a cocked head. Solona raised herself back up in the chair, now the only thing keeping her body from oozing onto the floor. Strands of blond hair clung to her fingers. Shakily, she picked them away, letting them drift toward the ground. She felt as though she'd just run the length of Ferelden.

“Do I have any hair left?” Anders asked as he tenderly patted the side of his head. The rosiness of his cheeks and lips were visible even in the dim light. Solona tried to form the words of an apology, but could only manage a shrug and a quiet laugh. She dragged herself up, replacing the flaps of her skirt over her thighs. A raw scratch bit at the back of her throat and Solona knew later she’d care about how loud she had probably been. Though in the moment, the spell of countless orgasms scrubbed her mind of all worries. She glanced at her bed, tiredness accumulating deep into her bones. The hard wood of the chair seemed oppressive around her. Solona pushed herself upward, her muscles gelatinous and unwieldy. Anders was at her side to offer a hand, but not before rolling his shoulders in a deep stretch.

When he presented his hand, Solona clung to it like a lifeline, allowing herself to be steadied as she rose. She gaped in disbelief at his face, his alluring combination of features and personality that she’d memorized every detail of during countless nights alone in the circle. How many hours had she lost to fantasies of what it might be like to hold his attention for a while? To feel his lips, be the object of his touch, his lust? Now inches away, stood the manifestation of years of school-girl longing. The deeply satisfying burn between her legs evidence that it had become reality.

With each step toward her bed, Solona let her hand map out the landscape of his arm, the curve of his bicep, the slender lines of his forearm, the feverish humidity in the air around him. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow, the palm of his hand wet with expended energy. She felt herself smiling, floating as she breathed the warm, spicy air around him.

She'd yet to give thought to the possibility of him staying the night, of more activities to fill the remaining hours of darkness. Still when his hands opened to release her and pull himself away, Solona knew it wouldn’t be happening.

“I’ll let you sleep,” he said.

Arguments flooded the quiet of Solona’s mind, but none of them lingered beyond the knee-jerk force of their arrival. Solona did want sleep. Arms around her, as much as she might have thought she could handle such an experience again, crossed too close to the real territory of betrayal. The fear of how that might feel, of how profoundly she  _ wanted _ to be held, promised a heartache she might not be able to contain.

Solona nodded. It was better this way.

“Thank you,” she laughed softly as she fell down into her bed and began the process of considering her nightclothes. Her panties were gone, her robe still half opened. Somewhere in the room she had a sleeping gown, but not the energy to find it.

“It was my pleasure, Commander.”

Buttoning a few buttons down the front of her robe, Solona turned to her side and nestled down into her bed. Sleep claimed her before the door clicked shut. 

 


	11. Eleven

Nathaniel sensed the motion of the other Wardens zigzagging around their rooms, washing up and gathering clothing in the usual morning rush before breakfast. Their hunger functioned like an alarm, preventing over-sleeping regardless of how much it might be desired, which Nathaniel often did. At least in a tavern he was allowed an unbroken night’s sleep, with no need to wake to tend a campfire. It was fortunate that they’d stumbled upon a tavern here, as they’d likely make use of it again if they came back this way, especially as the winter grew harsh.

The more he thought about it, the more he was certain he’d been to this tavern once before, when he was out visiting trade routes with his father as a boy. That had been so many years ago, but he distinctly remembered the weathered wooden walls, the choppy waters of the bay visible out the tavern windows, with its small dock full of rickety fishing boats, and his father warning him that the Black Marsh was just to the north. That night, during their dinner down in the barroom, his father quietly gloated over receipts and sales records while Nathaniel had sat in awe, shocked and amused by the colorful language of all the loud, drunken fisherman that lined the bartop. He’d learned several new words that night, but dared not repeat them. At least not just then. One had slipped in front of Adria once, and she’d swatted him on the side of the head.

Father had made him sleep on the floor of their rented room, with only a spare blanket as cushion. At the time Nathaniel accepted at face value his father’s explanation that they couldn’t afford to rent an extra cot, or get a second room. Of course now he knew that could only have been bullshit born of stinginess. Father had been stingy with so many things when it came to Nathaniel.  
  


Nathaniel’s pack was prepared, sitting at the bedside and ready to be grabbed once breakfast was finished. He cast a last look around the room before letting himself out the door, a habit that was unnecessary considering how lightly Nathaniel traveled in the first place. Bringing only the bare essentials ensured little to get lost or stolen, and more pack space to haul back loot. Though even his looting had grown much more discerning as of late; living back at the Keep and enjoying the Warden’s shared resources guaranteed that he wanted for nothing, and need only grab whatever could be traded for the most amount of coin.

Low voices and soft laughter murmured down the hallway, drawing Nathaniel’s eye toward their source. One of the maids from the bar was slipping out Anders’ room, her shoes gathered up into one hand, rusty colored hair a tangle of knots at the back of her head. She paused and flashed kohl-smeared eyes in Nathaniel’s direction as Anders stepped against her and pulled the door shut behind them. The mage threw him a smug grin before turning toward the stairwell at the far end of the hall. Nathaniel rolled his eyes. _Typical_.

He did have to admit that it was impressive in its way, how Anders seem to make everyone come to him. He rarely made his own pursuit, just sat back and turned on that charm of his. Nathaniel’s scowl deepened. Men to whom things came so easily rarely appreciated even the best of what they had.

Ten paces ahead, Anders tried to hurry her along with a hand at the small of her back.

Nathaniel timed his steps, sensing that Solona was close to emerging from the next room down. The sensation of her approached the door, pausing, probably looking around to be sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, same as he had done. He managed to be one step away when her door opened. Surprisingly clear-eyed and glowing, she nodded at Nathaniel before stepping out to join him in the hall. The distant giggle of the barmaid drew Solona’s gaze and she slowed for a beat, her brows knitting together as the two forms disappeared down the stairwell, radiating intimacy with their closeness. A sour pang hit Nathaniel’s stomach. He had no desire to observe her apparent disappointment, but tearing his eyes away from the face he’d dreamt about all night didn’t seem possible either. With a quick shake of her head, she resumed her pace, apparently without noticing that Nathaniel too had slowed and matched her speed.

“Good morning, Solona,” he said over her shoulder. Alone in his room, the recollection of their time on the balcony had made him almost giddy. At times he could still feel her touch upon his hand, could still hear her approving groan after she’d asked him to say her name again. He’d gone to sleep and woken with an almost delirious lightness.

Her reaction to his voice this morning was not as immediate as he’d hoped, but eventually those large dark eyes flicked up to him. Nathaniel let himself gaze deeply into them for the moment they locked with his. So often she seemed to be looking down, or at anything other than him, even when he addressed her directly.

“Good morning,” she practically whispered, looking away quickly.

“Did you sleep well?”

She nodded, her lip curling slightly. “Very well actually. You?”

“Same.”

She glanced up at him a final time before they reached the entrance to the stairwell that led down to the barroom. There again her steps slowed. Nathaniel passed her, ending up halfway down the stairs while she lingered at the top. Turning, he came to a stop to see her face drawn with tension, her foot hovering over the step before her but not landing.

“Is everything alright?”

She _had_ seemed quite distressed when she’d burst out onto the balcony the night before, though she’d never said why. Nathaniel retraced his steps and stopped in front of her. Eyes wide, she stared down the stairs.

“What do you need?”

Solona crept down two steps, stopping beside Nathaniel.

“Could you… peek down into the bar and see how many people are in there?”

It took him a moment to process the simplicity of the request. With a nod, he sprinted silently down the stairs and glanced out into the large main room. Clearly it was still a bit early for most of the patrons. The red-head that had roomed-in with Anders was behind the bar, her hands busy with something out of sight. Anders sat at a table in the middle of the room, arms splayed over the table’s surface and yawning as he watched her. Two old men were hunched over flagons at the bar. By their haggard, droopy faces it was unclear whether they’d risen early or had simply never been to bed. One other table had two other patrons who talked quietly to each other; their hair wet and freshly combed. A bearded man with a brown apron emerged from a back room carrying two bowls and headed toward them.

Nathaniel turned and climbed up the stairs back to Solona. Standing at the top of the stairwell with her arms folded against her chest, dark brows knitted over luminous but distant eyes; she seemed so small and fragile. It struck him what so many other people must see when they first saw her: just a slight, rather vulnerable looking woman.

“Four men, Anders and his lady, and the bartender,” Nathaniel recounted. “It’s mostly empty.”

The tension left her face. She flashed him something close to a smile and resumed her descent.

“Thank you,” she uttered as she passed.

“You’re welcome, Solona,” he answered, and then sighed. He was going to have to control his impulse to say her name all the time now. Surely she’d notice if he started to overdo it.

Again those bottomless eyes locked onto his. For a precious second, Nathaniel worried he might fall right into them.  
  


Once in the main room, she passed Anders and made her way to a table in the furthest, darkest corner, taking a seat that faced a wall and put her back to the rest of the room. Ignoring the still-yawning Anders, Nathaniel joined Solona. She picked at a fingernail and threw a glance over her shoulder toward the bar. The red-head carried two large mugs over to Anders before slipping into the chair beside him. Nathaniel caught the bartender’s eye, who nodded acknowledgment before retreating into the back again.

Nathaniel’s stomach grumbled audibly, clenching with a demand for sustenance. Back at the Keep they’d all be neck deep in food the moment they sat down; having to sit at an empty table for any time at all made the minutes stretch unbearably.

“I hope he doesn’t make us wait very long,” Nathaniel muttered. “I’d hate to have to eat my leathers. I quite like this pair.”

Solona snorted, her eyes flicking over to him, making a brief pass down his chest.

“They do look good on you,” she agreed. A heavy moment passed as the bar maid’s irritating giggle rang through the room. Anders’ apparent lack of sleep proved no deterrent to his usual morning chatter. Nathaniel squeezed his brow and tried to tune them out.

Tapping the table, he couldn’t help but wonder how Solona seemed so unaffected. On normal mornings back at the Keep she was as savage as everyone else when it came to breakfast, fighting over scraps and barely breathing between bites.

“Should we have warned them?” Nathaniel asked. “The staff, that is? I hope they have enough food prepared.” Sitting back in his chair, he resolved not to say another word until she did.

His stomach growled again, loud enough that there was no way Solona didn’t hear it. Shifting in his seat, he resumed his tapping. When Solona glanced at his fidgeting fingers, he pressed his hands against the table-top to keep them still. _Come on, man,_ he mentally called out to the bartender.

One of her arms spread across the table. Nathaniel’s heart jumped as he watched, her pale, slender hand extending until the tip of her finger found the dirty strips of tape that were already half peeling off his drawing fingers. Shivers crawled up his arms at the soft tickle of pressure where his callouses used to be. He couldn’t help his fingers reaching back toward her, curling into her touch almost of their own accord.

“I have some better tape, if you’d like it?” she asked without looking up. “Or some strips of leather? Might provide better protection.”

Nathaniel forced his hand to stay in place as he answered.

“Thank you, _Solona,_ but I need to build my skin’s resistance back up anyway.”

Solona sat up and pulled her arm back, her face turning toward an approaching shadow.

“ _Thank the Maker,”_ she sighed as two large mugs were set before them. Solona had hers to her lips within seconds. The man stood at the tableside, arms akimbo.

“Porridge, bread, plum pie, or some of last night’s mutton stew,” he listed off without greeting or ceremony.

“Yes,” Nathaniel answered. “All of it.”

The bartender snorted. “You got the coin for all that?”

Solona glanced up at him sharply. Recognition spread over the man’s face.

“Right. Coming up.”

“More coffee too,” she instructed. The bartender nodded and turned to leave, but after two steps stopped and returned to the table.

“So… that one over there is one of yours, then?” the bartender asked as he gestured toward the side of the bar. Nathaniel peered over the table, searching the shadows beside the bar where the man pointed. A familiar pair of boots connected to a short pair legs laying underneath a far table. Nathaniel could make out the distant rumble of Oghren’s snoring.

“Yes,” Nathaniel answered flatly. “Apologies. He’ll be awake any moment now.”

He hoped anyway. So far the need for breakfast had proved more powerful than Oghren’s strongest drunken stupor.

 

The morning was long, but their bellies were full and there was little other traffic on the road back to the Pilgrim’s Path. The rain had stopped for a while, allowing the mud to dry out enough to make walking easy. Patches of blue peered through milky, quick traveling clouds. Brown leaves drifted to the ground at the urging of chilly wind gusts, leaving spindly branches increasingly bare. Autumn was always a great time for hunting, as the lack of tree cover made game easier to see. But as long as nothing surprising came up, Nathaniel predicted they’d be home by dinner, and he’d have no need for hunting. Dry leaves crunched under everyone’s footsteps.

“If you must be so close, dwarf, I’d prefer that you turn your head,” the new woman, Velanna, practically spat at Oghren. Nathaniel had made a point of keeping his distance from her. Judging by the hateful way she glared at them all, she was not interested in their attentions anyhow.

“Well, sorry for looking. I can’t help that your womanly splendor is at eye level,” he responded. Nathaniel stifled the urge to turn and kick a rock at Oghren. _Always so bloody crude._

“What?” Velanna asked, sounding genuinely caught off guard. “I was referring to your —”

“Oh, you weren’t talking about — er, what were you talking about?”

Nathaniel sighed and tuned them out.  
  


Three steps ahead of him, Solona was leading the pack as usual, taking steps that seemed longer than what someone of her size should be capable. She moved without speaking, without glancing behind her or acknowledging the companions to her rear at all. There was little need to call out orders since she could feel everyone’s location at all times anyway, and the proximity of darkspawn would be easily detectable by any Warden, making announcements rarely necessary. It was Nathaniel’s job to keep alert for dangerous wildlife, but most predators weren’t active in the middle of the day, and the decaying leaf-cover was diminishing more and more with each bluster of wind, giving them few places to hide.

Just between Nathaniel and Solona was Anders, walking along the edge of the road, his head turning frequently to glance over at Solona. An irritated prickle rose up Nathaniel’s spine each time he did. Whatever interest the mage had in her couldn’t possibly be genuine. Probably he was drawn to her status or something, the whole vanquisher-of-the-blight thing. Solona Amell, venerable _Commander of the Grey Wardens. How good he would look on her arm!_ Did he merely want something more to boast about? _As if he doesn’t already have enough._ Perhaps he was impressed by her magical power, as everyone always was once they got a glimpse of it. Or perhaps he was trying to decide which brown-nosing tactic might win him the most favor. _Sycophant._

Or perhaps Nathaniel’s own questions to Anders about Solona had sparked some interest that hadn’t existed before? Anders seemed not to have noticed how Solona had always seemed warmer to him than she was to anyone else. Had Nathaniel inadvertently opened some door in Anders’ mind about her? Had he given Anders the impression that she might make an easy target for his… _proclivities?_

Frowning, Nathaniel stepped quicker, passing Anders and sidling up to Solona. She tilted her head and looked at him only out the corner of her eye.

“Kinloch Hold is by Lake Calenhad, correct?” Nathaniel asked her.

“Not by, _in._ On an island,” Anders answered from behind them. Nathaniel ignored him.

“How were the winters there?” he continued.

Anders snorted. “The winters? Have you never—”

Nathaniel spun abruptly, stepping into Anders’ path.

“I’m asking _Solona.”_ Nathaniel let his glare alone issue the warning, but the words were poised on the tip of his tongue. _My arrows are faster than your barrier spell. And there’s no healing from instant death._

Anders stumbled to a stop before him, then gestured over-dramatically toward Solona with mocking acquiescence.

Nathaniel turned to see Solona continuing on without pause and sprinted to catch up. Forcing the annoyance out of his face, he cleared his throat and paced her, hoping the others stayed well behind. Solona’s lashes fluttered against her cheek as she looked down at the road.

“Calenhad winters are frigid as any part of Ferelden,” she answered. “We didn’t venture far out of the tower though, honestly. The lake sort of became a corridor for all the winds that came down from the Frostbacks. They’d blow away everything not nailed down.”

Nathaniel nodded, listening.

“The lake froze, snow drifts got really high,” she shrugged. “Typical Ferelden, right?”

“Well,” Nathaniel sighed. Her answer was precisely what he expected. “Amaranthine winters are _wet._ We get as much rain as snow, which means lots of ice to contend with. Storms come up off the sea without warning and bring travel to a standstill.”

He seemed to have her attention; she stared at him, waiting.

“Okay,” she said.

“As much ice as we get here poses a unique problem. Too much of it gets very heavy, and will bring down ceilings and rooftops. It coats walkways and steps, creating a dangerous slip hazard. Carriages crash on it, so supply deliveries can be erratic. And when it begins to warm in the spring, whole sheets of ice will slide off buildings, in sizes that can cleave a man in half.”

A dark laugh erupted from Solona’s throat.

“And then it all melts at once and everything floods,” he finished. 

“Well that sounds delightful,” Solona sighed, her lips drawing into a straight line.

“Captain Garevel is native to the area, so he should expect that some preparations are needed for the Keep before winter hits,” Nathaniel continued. “Has he spoken to you at all about whether he’s begun them? Or at least made assessments?”

Solona shook her head. “The Captain’s focus has been on recruiting and training new soldiers, per my direction. We’ve too few as it is. We’ve taken some out of the farmlands to protect the trade routes, but… it’s just not enough.”

Nathaniel stared ahead, the road before them disappearing into a thin, distant line. They had maybe three weeks to get things done around the Keep, but that lack of soldiers meant little available manpower for repairs. Roofs in the Keep village were usually given a thorough check each fall by the people who lived there, but Nathaniel didn’t recognize most of the faces living down there now. Gutters needed to be removed to prevent ice-damming. And there was always that corner of the main building, in the east wing, that leaked horribly. He hadn’t been any where near that since his return from the Marches to see what condition it was in now. The first time the corner of that ceiling collapsed it had ruined a trunk full of mother’s heirlooms and soaked the hall rugs. The whole wing stank of mildew for nearly a year.

“Assuming we’re back in time tonight, will you show me around the Keep? We can make some assessments ourselves. And I uh… I actually haven’t really taken a _full_ tour of the place anyway,” she asked. “Which is probably not very Commander-ly of me.” Nathaniel suppressed a smile. Rising over the seriousness of the conversation was that giddy feeling again. Quickened heartbeats fluttered against his ribs.

“Of course, _Solona.”_

This time something in her eyes flickered when he uttered her name. Nathaniel felt a smile creeping across his face, a rare sensation in the past months. But in this moment, he wasn’t sure he could stop it even if he wanted to. True to her form, Solona looked away.

“It’ll have to wait until after her joining,” Solona added, nodding to the group behind her.

“Right.” Nathaniel glanced back at the group. Anders and Oghren were speaking quietly while Anders stared pointedly at Nathaniel. Velanna trailed behind them, her frown changing and deepening as she listened to the two ahead of her. _Quite a jolly bunch._

“Do you think she’ll survive it?” he asked, looking back to Solona. A gust of wind kicked up just then, blowing her hair away from her neck, revealing creamy skin that drew Nathaniel’s eye.

“She seems strong,” Solona answered. “A little unhinged, but… aren’t we all?”

Nathaniel snorted. “Some of us more than others.”

“You know Woollsey tells me that in other Warden groups, the rule is supposed to be that the newest recruit leads the next one through their Joining,” she added. “And that’s you.”

Nathaniel blinked at her, trying to remember what that entailed.

“So, I’d hand her the chalice? That’s not difficult.”

Solona reached into her pocket and then presented out a fist, something shiny tucked inside. She held it before him, waiting. Tentatively, Nathaniel accepted, feeling first the warmth of her hand brush gently against his, then a cool vial drop into his palm. Thick and black, he recognized it instantly as darkspawn ichor.

“Technically I think you also make the mixture, clean up and put things away… deal with the body if there is one…”

Nathaniel glanced back at the elf woman again. However abrasive she might have been, watching her die in front of him was not something he wanted to experience. He sighed, thinking back to his grandfather. Another Warden would have had to watch him fall, and then drag him away, prepare his body for…

“Do those who fail the Joining receive a special burial or anything?”

“They are burned. But yes, there are words that are said. A small ceremony of sorts. If it happens… I will be there to walk you through it. Hopefully it won’t be necessary,” Solona glanced behind her again. The elf was now watching Nathaniel and Solona, probably certain she was being talked about. She was a stunning woman; even the scowl on her face couldn’t mar her beauty. Her personality so far had left little be desired however.

“Like I said, she seems strong. I bet she’ll be fine,” sighed Solona as she faced forward again. “Not sure that we need another _mage_ tagging along every where though. Three of us in a group seems a little excessive, don’t you think?”

Nathaniel shrugged, inwardly stunned that she seemed interested in his opinion on the matter. “There’s plenty for her to do at the Keep."

 

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

 

Solona rose from the seat beside the fire and walked over to Nathaniel’s coat, still draped over one of the wooden chairs at her quarter’s small table, precisely where she’d left it before the trip to the Wending Wood. The fit had been perfect on Nathaniel’s broad shoulders, his tapered waist and his long legs, but with the item in hand it was easy to see that it was also made with Amaranthine’s particular climate in mind. Its rich, dark leather had been oiled and worked into remarkable softness, the seams covered with an almost invisible overlying flap of leather which would prevent the seeping of water; a feature perfect for the wet, icy winter which Nathaniel had warned. Such a treacherous season did indeed sound unpleasant, but this coat represented Nathaniel’s foresight and preparation, the same thinking-ahead that had brought him to address the needs of the Keep to her in the first place.

Nathaniel would make a good Commander in her stead, of that there was no question.

While sitting in the solitude of her room, with only the crackling fire to interrupt her thoughts, Solona had been mentally tallying the attributes of all the other Wardens, but the decision had been easy. And it had taken mere minutes to write out the decree naming Nathaniel as next Warden Commander, two copies of which sat folded neatly on her writing desk, one ready to be handed off to Seneschal Varel at the next day’s mail exchange. He had a chest for such documents sitting among the coin in the lower vault. The second copy to be given to Mistress Woollsey who’d relay it Weisshaupt on a messenger bird. In the absence of such a written order, the title would fall to the next senior member, and since Oghren and Anders had taken their joining together, and neither showed a particular aptitude for the position, Solona realized she was foolishly late in putting this decision to paper. Had she not made it back from the Wending Wood, she imagined less a fight for which of those two got to claim the title and more a fight for who got to escape it.

It was likely Nathaniel would step up anyhow; of the three he had the most to prove.

His coat -- still as cold as her room had been when she’d first arrived back -- hung long on her arm, the cuff dangling over her fingers when she let it sit at its natural length. It draped about her shoulders heavily, feeling soothingly like a comforting hug. Whatever chill the fire hadn’t chased out of her flesh dissipated quickly as she pulled the coat closed around her, a perfect insulation from the frosty air. Gathering up the lapel, her head turned, where a deep inhalation brought the earthy scent of leather and a spicy wood. How many arrows had he shaped and sharpened while wearing this coat? How long had he owned and worn it? Had it traveled with him out of the Keep, to the Marches and back again? Or had it been recently sewn, needing the new measurements of an increased musculature?

Outside her door the low sounds of Keep activity droned on. A few soldiers had ridden in from the farms to consult with Garevel and Varel. Velanna’s Joining had gone as uneventfully as Solona hoped and dinner put away by the Wardens in record time, largely thanks to the newly minted elf. Watching a brand new Warden discovering their appetite never failed to amuse, and had allowed her to snatch an extra chunk of rib meat off Anders’ plate while he was distracted. And now tubs were being hauled to rooms, followed by buckets of steaming water; loot had been dumped on the table outside the vault and was being sorted. Activity always increased upon their return, but her status allowed her to delegate duties so that she could rest in peace

Her mind remained sharp, listening, scanning the space outside her door for Nathaniel’s approach. Churning thoughts tumbled restlessly in her mind, filling every empty moment so that she hoped he might stay away a little bit longer. She’d probably been stupid on that balcony, though at the same time she held no regrets for speaking her mind. Her biggest concern was that she might make herself seem freer than she was, that her impulse to connect might seem an offering of herself she had no ability to uphold. It wasn’t fair for her to make anyone else think she was available. While a physical dalliance here and there might relieve a bit of her internal pressure, her own passing was imminent, and she had no desire to inflict grief upon her fellow Wardens, especially since they’d be tasked with continuing on once she was gone. She’d be a better Commander herself were she not constantly wishing she was with Alistair. It would be cruel for her to stick someone else with similar feelings, same as it would be cruel to leave the fate of the Fereldan Wardens with someone not fully committed to its revival.

For whatever reason Nathaniel stuck out in her mind, occasionally pushing his way into her thoughts at the strangest times, but that was simply something she’d have to get over.

There it was, the sensation of a Warden in the western stairwell. That’s where he always descended from his room. She tried not to picture him: freshly dressed from his bath, his almost-black hair wet, his body soft and clean and smelling of some herbal soap. The knowledge that he was coming sent a hitch in her throat, catching her breath and making her gasp for additional air. Looking down, she realized she was not only wearing his coat, but _embracing_ it. She shook her head at herself, mumbling hard admonishments under her breath as she shrugged it off. It was only because of the way he always looked at her, because he seemed to harbor some interest that was as mysterious as himself. How could a man that had wanted to kill her, that had taunted her, that had such a sharp tongue in the face of her more vulnerable moments, have anything but contempt for her now? Hadn’t she proved herself weak? Confused, conflicted, a danger to the order? A normal man should be questioning her ability to lead one of the most important militias in Thedas, yet instead of doing that he… looked at her like he understood a little, or, Maker forbid, actually _cared._

It didn’t sit well. If anything, it make Solona question her own perception.

But still… he was nice to look at. And he seemed to be growing kinder and less sarcastic the more they talked. And though her impulse had been foolish, those moments they’d spent on the balcony, the way he’d let her touch and inspect his hand, those moments had felt _good._

But the coat was off now. No matter how nice it smelled, it would be returned. She’d put on layers to combat the chill and was determined not to display any sign of being cold so that he might be compelled to make her take the coat back. She’d walk with him, tour the stronghold, ask for his insight, and just confirm that she was doing the right thing by putting him in charge of winter preparations for the Keep. He’d shown the initiative for them in the first place. What better person to oversee repairs and assessments than the man who'd grown up there and held an intimate knowledge of the place and its quirks? It would be his first bit of training for the role of Commander.

Still, her heart was in her throat when the sensation of the approaching Warden made a track directly for the door to her room. The coat was off her shoulders, but a rush of something that felt decidedly like guilt spread up from her gut, warming her cheeks. She took a few deep breaths and talked herself out of her excitement.

_It’s just a walk around the Keep. Give the coat back. Ask how repairs should be prioritized. Probe for ideas about building the coffers. See how he feels about leadership. Easy peasy._

The knock came, and though Solona was waiting for it, she surged forward to grab the handle of the door and then paused, taking a deep, calming breath.


	12. Twelve

The approaching rain clouds looked as though someone had set them on fire. Streaks of orange painted the entire western sky with a stunning vibrancy that left Solona breathless. After so many days traversing a landscape of muted greys and browns, the sight of a blazing sky injected her with a shock of energy, seeming to wipe a veneer of dust off her soul. Forgetting for a moment the task that had led her and Nathaniel to the battlements in the first place, she lingered in the tower doorway with mouth agape, taking in the unexpected display of heavenly color. A gentle hand at the small of her back urged her to continue forward.

“Soon we’ll be out of light entirely,” Nathaniel cautioned over her shoulder. “We’ve ten minutes, maybe.”

Nodding, Solona stepped out onto the stone walkway, pausing as Nathaniel closed the door behind them. He breezed past, hurried strides from long legs putting him well ahead of her.

“I’ve already checked the wood stocks, and our supply will need to be doubled at least, preferably tripled,” Nathaniel stated, snapping her attention back to him.

He’d already been leading her around the lower levels of the courtyard for almost an hour, and his purpose had spurred more loquaciousness than she’d ever heard from him. It had been been an enjoyable stretch of time, though she’d had little to add to his suggestions. But listening to his pleasant accent and smoky timbre remained as soothing as ever.

He’d been listing off things that needed to be done since the moment she’d opened her door, and she’d nodded constantly in response, like a fool. There was little she could disagree with, and most of it seemed fairly simple. Having something to do seemed to have energized him, and his enthusiasm about his project was infectious. Finally Solona had to interrupt in order to force him to accept his coat back. And then he’d done her the disservice of deciding to wear it. Perfectly fitted, it accentuated all his body’s natural lines and contours, and even seemed to make his posture straighter, though that might have been her imagination. The image of him out the corner of her eye was unfairly distracting.

“The southern watchtower needs some slate replaced,” Nathaniel said as he stopped and pointed up toward the top of the cliffs that abutted the Keep. Solona offered another nod as she confirmed a patch of broken tile marring the roof of the tower. Turning back toward the courtyard, she scanned over the all the visible walls and roofing, finding more signs of cracks and crumbling stone, pockmarking nearly every surface.

“Your tower needs some work as well,” he added, his voice close to her ear. Solona stifled a shiver.

“ _My_ tower,” she repeated mindlessly.

“The one you go to sometimes,” Nathaniel continued softly. “At night.”

Another nod. Of course she knew what he was referring to.

“You might consider finding a new hideaway, at least until winter is past.” A warm exhalation of breath tingled down the back of her neck, the air around her palpably disturbed by his movement. The resulting shudder was not one she could control. Instead her eyes closed, her mind reaching toward their shared Warden awareness to calculate his exact distance. A few feet away, maybe, his height allowing him to peer over her shoulder while not hovering oppressively close. Just close enough to _tease._

The light scraping of cloth against cloth sounded off; Solona knew immediately why.

“Nope,” she said, turning, catching the brilliant blue of his gaze for what felt like the first time that night. “Keep your coat. I’m not cold.”

Nathaniel laughed, stopping mid-motion.

“Fully dressed this time, see?” She took a step back and held her hands up as though presenting herself. He laughed again, his eyes sparkling. The dark leather fell back into place, sharpening his broad shoulders and laying flat against his lean torso. Solona shook her head and turned away from him, annoyed that these little details of his kept capturing her attention. At least the dark color of the coat did little to liven up his pale complexion. If anything it enhanced the tired circles under his eyes, combining with the black of his shoulder length hair to lend him the appearance of a ghostly shadow.

He couldn’t be more different from Alistair if he tried. How regularly had she admired her lover’s golden skin and hair? That tan of Alistair’s would deepen to a luxuriant bronze with the full strength of the sun, seeming a perfect reflection of his youth and vitality. The man had simply radiated _life._ She still wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anything sexier than Alistair in all his golden, muscular splendor.

But then so much of how she saw him had been influenced by his character, his humor, his generous affection. Strange, then, that now such a dour, dark man continued to ingratiate himself into her consciousness.

Solona continued down the battlement pathway, holding the precious memory of Alistair in her mind even as the resulting ball of longing took up its usual place in the pit of her stomach. She eyed her watchtower, the one retreat in the Keep that allowed her some semblance of solitude. Certainly as the rains increased she’d be forced to seek solace elsewhere, a tiresome thought that she did not relish. So far it seemed only Nathaniel knew about her little rooftop perch, but he’d never attempted to join her there. Now she quickly identified several significant cracks that separated misaligned sheets of slate, areas particularly dark along the section she regularly climbed. She sighed, realizing there was a good chance that she’d _caused_ that damage.

The Keep appeared an entirely new construct now that she knew what warning signs to look for. Even in the dying twilight she saw damage everywhere, and her ancient, impressive fortress suddenly felt on the cusp of collapse. Of course, Nathaniel was the one who knew which cracks to worry over and which could afford to be overlooked for now. This had been the place he assumed he’d once rule as a young man, and would in the near future. It had also been his childhood playground, and likely held a great deal of sentimental value. Surely he would wisely invest whatever slice of Warden resources she allotted him.

Curious about what sorts of experience growing up there might entail, she tried to see the fortress through the eyes of a child. With the main building crawling up a cliffside, watchtowers stretching into the sky, dungeons and cellars dug deep into the ground below, there were so many places for a child to hide and explore. Long, dark corridors leading to mysteries and secret nooks? Countless rooms filled with unexpected treasures? It was irresistible even for an adult. The circle tower had held a similar allure, though the mages weren’t granted much freedom to explore. Like the tower, she supposed growing up in the Keep depended on the other people you shared it with.

And if one of those people was Rendon Howe, all the more reason to run and hide.

“Do you have any suggestions?” Solona asked as Nathaniel resumed his pace alongside her. “For a new hideaway? It’s nice to have _somewhere_ to escape. Varel sends soldiers out to fetch me much more often than he actually needs to, and the bloody bastards always manage to find me. Sometimes I just need…”

Solona clamped her mouth closed. She didn’t need to explain herself, but ever since their ordeal in the forest she’d grown strangely comfortable in Nathaniel’s company. Comfortable and increasingly fascinated, neither of which boded well. An attachment to or from him would only make achieving her ultimate goal more difficult.

A long moment was filled with the sound of her own footsteps, while Nathaniel’s remained nearly silent. She glanced up at him to see him watching her in return, quietly waiting.

“You need… a quiet place to be alone?” He finished for her. “I understand that. _Completely.”_

The last sliver of the sun disappeared below the horizon, but the sky retained a blush of pink. A flicker of lightning flashed in the distance, brightening the steely stone walls of the battlements. Her feet ached from days upon days of walking, but it was such a stunningly beautiful night that she had no urge to retire anytime soon.

“Where do you go?” she asked. “I won’t bother you there, I promise.”

Nathaniel breathed a soft chuckle.

“I have a few places. But I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

Nathaniel offered only a shrug in response.

“When I was a child, I spent a lot of time in the trophy room, hiding from my parent’s fighting. Then there was Adria’s cottage down in the Keep village,” Nathaniel’s eyes grew distant. Solona recalled the woman named Adria, who they’d come across in the basement of the Keep just after Nathaniel had joined the Wardens. Adria had succumbed to the ghoulish taint of the darkspawn, her flesh rotting away on her bones, eyes turned to dead, blackened pits. Nathaniel’s agonized wail at her discovery resonated loudly in Solona’s memory. _She was like a mother to me,_ he’d cried of the woman, just before they were forced to kill her.

The ache in her gut twisted at the memory. Solona cast him a look that she hoped communicated some of her sympathy for his loss. Words, she knew full well, would be insufficient.

“Actually, if we enter this door over here…” Nathaniel began as he rushed ahead to grab a brazier out of its holder and pull the latch of a door set into a tall brown wall. “I can show you a place…”  
  


The Keep was eerily empty after so many of the guards and soldiers had been assigned to the farmlands, but the evidence of their past occupation remained in the form of discarded refuse that littered the cold, empty rooms. Tables still held the odd empty flagon, and barrels and crates lined the shelves. A broken shield lay in pieces beside a doorway, and one tiny room strangely held a single shiny boot. Nathaniel led her through small room after small room without pausing, until they turned a corner to a narrow stairwell. As he began climbing upward, Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder, his glacial eyes connecting with hers.  
  


“Was it fun, growing up here?” Solona asked, her words echoing through the narrow chamber.

“It… had its moments,” Nathaniel laughed, the smoky quality of his voice magnified as it bounced off the stone walls. Solona watched his dark form closely now that his back was turned, and tried to analyze the draw she continued to feel toward him. Was it because he’d called her beautiful?

The memory of that word brought a few other things rushing back. His thumb on her cheek, the feel of his fingers closing around her hand on the balcony. The image of his toned torso in the forest firelight. The one time after he passed out and woke back up where he grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. He’d done so for warmth, but it had happened so naturally that she didn’t think twice about it until after she was comfortably settled into his embrace. A handful of small moments that she’d not allowed to carry any meaning, now presented themselves with a new clarity. She wasn’t sure that it was a good thing that her long abandoned body seemed to be creaking back to life, as it seemed to be bringing with it a deluge of counterproductive urges. Anders seemed a safe enough distraction, but the stirrings deep in her stomach about Nathaniel were driving her to greater and greater distraction. Even now she remained breathlessly aware of him with every step they took.

After what felt like an eternity, the stairs ended, leading to a passageway with aged red walls and a wood door that was much larger and heavier in appearance than the others they’d passed through. Without testing the latch, Nathaniel handed Solona the brazier with one hand and thumbed a lockpick out of a little leather pouch that was waiting in his other. Solona peeked around him to watch as he inserted the pick into the lock, and with two measured motions came a low click. She almost asked if he might teach her, seeing the use in such a skill, but swallowed the words down before they escaped. Her mind filled with images of Nathaniel’s hands, nimble and strong, his long fingers guiding hers, his face close, whispered instructions while waiting for the pins to fall. It was enough to make her heart leap into her throat, disabling her voice from making any such request.

Nathaniel swung the ancient door open, holding it to allow Solona step through first.

The hallway beyond was short and forked at the end, with one branch leading to yet another door, while the other continued onto into shadow, its destination unknown.

“Maker, I forget just how large this Keep is. A person could really get lost in here,” Solona observed. Her voice rang unexpectedly loud in the stillness of the corridor.

“Can and have,” Nathaniel confirmed warmly. “Delilah used to chase me all over, and we’d often end up turned around and not sure where we were. This section is quite small though. This was mother’s wing of the Keep. Father rarely came up here, and if he ever did we knew to leave immediately.”

Solona pictured a young Nathaniel running joyfully through the long passageways, followed by a giggling little girl. The imagery went dark when she realized that everyone who had lived here with him were now wandering the halls of the afterlife along with Alistair.

The glow of firelight revealed broken frames still hanging on the walls, though the paintings that once occupied them were gone. She’d heard that the place had been sacked by several scores of bandits before Garevel and the soldiers moved in, and then additional damage had been done to nearly all corners in the darkspawn invasion. Currently there were only enough people to keep the lowest levels of the Keep in use, with the various cliffside floors and towers remaining abandoned. They were easy to forget about, at least until she was up on her own tower, able to see the entirety of the fortress in a single panorama.

Once again Nathaniel breezed past her, walking decisively toward the last door before the fork in the hall, and had the lock picked and door swinging open before Solona completed her final two steps. In the flickering light of the brazier, she registered a brief moment of hesitation before he entered the room. A wrinkle appeared between his brows as he took in the room’s sparse, decrepit contents.

Briazier outstretched, Solona scanned the expansive room before her. Centered by a four poster bed, though the bare mattress upon the frame lay partially burnt, any bedding or other adornments long removed. A half-collapsed bureau sat against one wall, with scattered splinters of wood strewn about. The furthest wall held a set of double doors that were plastered in dingy brown papers and emanated cold. Nathaniel walked straight toward them and inspected its latches. Solona stepped quietly around the room, gazing up at the faded marks where pictures had once hung, thinking of the life that this room once contained. She stayed close to Nathaniel to keep him within the brazier’s light.

Nathaniel had asked that the painting of his mother in the main hall be taken down, but as far as Solona knew, it still hung there. He’d said his father hated his mother and treated Thomas as the favored son. Nathaniel had also spoken about tearing apart Delilah’s dolls. Solona could only imagine what it might be like to live within such a fractured family, harboring whatever resentment that had driven him to such malice against his siblings. Her own memories of her family were faded, consisting mostly of old images of a large, grandiose house, with towering windows and gleaming chandeliers, gilded vases and a city view. She knew her mother had dark hair and a warm laugh. She remembered a number of old, grey haired men who looked at her disapprovingly. She vaguely remembered the move to Ferelden and the small cabin of a ship taking them between the massive statues outof the Kirkwall harbor. After that the only thing that stood out was the day she was handed over to the Templars. The trauma of her abandonment had darkened her first years in the circle. But eventually, inevitably, she’d adjusted to life there.

  
  


“Were you close with your mother?” Solona asked.

“Not as close as I should have been,” he answered softly. “She… wasn’t a happy person. Of course, with the things my father said to her that’s not a surprise. I didn’t understand it for a long time. I assumed she must have deserved his treatment.”

Solona was taken aback. Her first thought at the word “mother” were those few memories of her own, dim impressions of warmth, love, laughter. Solona hardly knew how to respond to Nathaniel’s statement. She could only repeat his words, aghast at the possibility that he might believe them.

“ _Deserved it?”_

“I know now how unkind that was of me. But my father didn’t do things without reason.”

Solona swallowed hard, feeling her face screw into a frown.

“I’m guessing his reason was that he was an asshole?” Solona sighed angrily. “You don’t have to answer that. I already know it’s true.”

Nathaniel pulled one of the double doors open a crack and peeked out into whatever was beyond. His posture betrayed no immediate emotion, but the voice that answered her was sharp.

“I don’t expect you to understand, Solona. I’m fully aware that you believe my father was a monster.”

Solona clenched her jaw. A hundred arguments sprang to mind, anecdotes of Rendon’s treachery replaying behind her vision, but it didn’t feel like the appropriate moment, and she had no desire to turn their time together hostile. At least he knew now that his assumption about his mother was unfair. Solona felt a deep pang of sympathy for his mother, and turned to scan the room for any lingering sign of her. Torn papers lay in a decaying heap in one corner of the room, along with pieces of wood and glass. Anything valuable had been long removed, but she may have owned some things that didn’t appeal to the thieves. Solona pulled open the one intact drawer in the half-collapsed bureau, surprised at how easily it slid free. Inside rolled an empty, intact perfume bottle, a faint waft of a floral chemical detectable in the dusty air within. Nathaniel’s head turned toward her, his silent form appearing at her side. He picked the bottle up, rolled it in his fingers. The glass of the bottle was clouded and brown, its topper long gone. Nathaniel held it to his nose and took a deep breath.

“Did you never have any happy times here?” Solona asked, her voice breaking the silence. “You must have, right?”

Nathaniel’s eyes flickered to hers, growing distant as he pondered.

“Your father hated your mother. You hated your siblings…” Solona recanted, “but was it always that way?”

“I didn’t _hate_ my siblings,” Nathaniel retorted, brows furrowing.

“You just liked to hurt them? Or, the things they loved,” she said. She wasn’t sure what she was getting at. The dynamics of their family seemed such a mystery. Solona had always dreamed that if her own family had been allowed to stay intact, they would have tried to make the best of their time together. After those first lonely years in the Circle, once her mother’s letters had started coming less and less, all she wanted was simply to go home. She imagined parents who cherished her, brothers and sisters who understood her, family dinners around a single table where everyone talked about their day, winter nights warming up in front of a fireplace. Of course the details of the fantasy grew more difficult to fill in as she aged, the normal lives of normal people being something she had no opportunity to observe from a prison tower in the middle of a lake.

Nathaniel sighed. “We were no different than any other siblings. We fought often, but… we were family.”

Solona sighed and turned away. She wasn’t sure she even knew what that meant.

“Besides, they antagonized me too. Delilah threw my favorite sword and shield set into a fire, so I ripped the arms off her dolls. Thomas released my pet nug into the stables in order to spook the horses and the poor thing ended up trampled. I was going to kill one of the birds, but honestly even if it hadn’t bitten me, I’m not certain I would have gone through with it. I know the bird didn’t deserve it, just like my nug didn’t. Thomas would specifically ask to do the things with father that _I_ wanted, because he knew father always chose him over me. While he was gone I’d bury rotten fish in the drawers of his bureau so that all his clothes stank to high heaven. I abuse them, they abuse me in return, cycle starts over…” Nathaniel shrugged like it was nothing. “You know. _Family.”_

Solona stared at him blankly. That sounded like a few so-called friendships she’d had in the Circle, but when it came down to it, whatever Nathaniel seemed to be expecting her to understand about it, she simply didn’t. She couldn’t. Nothing about that sounded like the type of family-filled homes that she’d always imagined.

“Look, I know it sounds terrible, but I’d give anything to have any one of them here now,” he added, looking away from her quickly. “Even Thomas. If they needed me, I was there. If I needed them, I knew I could count on them too.”

A heavy ache infiltrated Solona’s chest; a feeling as though she’d just been punched. The massive imbalance in their losses surfaced in her mind with such lucidity it made her dizzy. It seemed incomprehensible that he could even stand there and talk about it, when Solona felt on the verge of collapse at the mere uttering of Alistair’s name. How was it possible that he was handling a loss so much larger than her own with such unfathomable strength and grace?

It seemed yet another reason he was more suited to her title. But he would have it soon enough.

An impulse to reach out to him made her fingers twitch, though she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. Her eyes burned in that way they often did before she cried, but even that seemed an inappropriate response. What would he think to see her standing in his mother’s room, hardly able to handle the details of his reality, while he himself displayed no such emotion? He already had enough reason to think her unstable.

Solona glanced up into his eyes for a moment, hoping she was keeping her face placid and peaceful. In the tiny nuances of his face, his gaze, she saw there was much behind that scenes that was being held in. Again he looked away quickly, communicating his discomfort with how heavy the moment had grown.

Solona cleared her throat again. It seemed as good a time as any for a change of subject.

“So this is the place you come to?”

Nathaniel nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck and turned away from the glass double doors and toward a smaller wood one on the opposite wall.

“This room has two very special features,” Nathaniel said, his tone lightening. While his back was turned, she pulled a small flask from her robe pocket, downing half its contents in two large swallows. The burn down her throat spread its numbing effect through her body, pulling her safely away from the previous moment’s dangerous swell of emotion. She sighed again, relieved that she’d thought to fill the flask before they’d set out that evening.

With quickened steps, she followed him toward the small door, curious of what it could be hiding, but behind it appeared to be only another dark room, which the brazier light revealed had once been an expansive closet. Broken wooden bars which had presumably once held substantive wardrobe lay in pieces on the ground, along with strips of grimy, tattered fabric. Nathaniel kept an eye on her as they walked a circle around the room, seemingly waiting for her to see something. The room was relatively empty, and the brazier-fire dimmed, growing low as all the oxygen in the enclosed space was eaten up by flame and breath.

“Well?” Solona asked. “I mean, it _is_ impressive that she had so much clothing she required a separate room for it.” Looking around the room she wondered if that was unusual for nobles. She had no recollection such a room in the large mansion of her childhood memories, but that had been so many years ago…

Nathaniel let out a small chuckle. “It’s well hidden, isn’t it?” It seemed a question hardly directed at her since she had no idea what _it_ could be. Solona tapped her foot, waiting for Nathaniel to let her in on the joke. He nodded, registering her lack of amusement, and turned on his heel to walked directly to the back of the room. Solona approached, holding the brazier close as his fingers slid down a seam near the corner of the wall. Seeming to feel something, his fingers paused, running over the same spot a few times. Clearly detecting something at the seam, Nathaniel grunted in satisfaction and pushed.

Solona’s breath caught as an entire section of wall moved away, receding several inches deeper into itself and then sliding aside, revealing more black space behind it. Nathaniel flashed her another quick glance, the blue of his eyes almost silvery in the firelight.

“A secret passage!” Solona breathed, fascinated. She stepped into it but stopped at the sensation of Nathaniel’s hand gently grasping her elbow, warning her not to rush ahead. His hand lingered, but the long passage before her absorbed her attention, and she held the brazier out to try to illuminate as much of it as she could, but wherever it led was not evident.

“Where does it go?”

“There is a safe room that is carved out of the hillside, and the hall continues on down to the armory. Lots of stairs to get there, many of which are probably rotted away by now. It would probably be safer to explore it from the other side, working our way up.”

Solona nodded, but her heartbeat had quickened, entranced by the prospect of sneaking through hidden vaults of the Keep. This was precisely the sort of thing she imagined a kid delighting in.

“There is another passage, in the western wing. It has listening holes placed behind what used to be the guard’s quarters and training rooms,” Nathaniel said.

“Listening holes?”

“Places to eavesdrop on conversations and spy on the guards. Father wanted to be certain of the soldier’s loyalty, make sure there were no moles or dissidents in the ranks.”

Solona laughed and shook her head. She wasn’t surprised at all, but bit her lip against adding any additional commentary. Her tongue already felt looser with the whiskey running through her veins.

“And,” she asked, returning to his previous statement, “the second _special feature?”_

Nathaniel waved her back toward the main bedroom, leading her directly to the double doors.

A frosty gust of air welcomed them out onto a wrap-around balcony, its rail an intricately designed pattern of curled iron.

“It’s the view, which isn’t going to be nearly as enjoyable right now as it is during the day,” Nathaniel stated. Solona stepped against the railing and took in the expanse of space before her. The balcony looked out over the outside of the Keep, with only rolling hills and jagged cliffs to be seen. No crumbling Keep walls, no sounds or sights of people milling about. The left half of the sky was filling with flickering storm clouds, while the right half was cluttered with countless stars twinkling bright. It took a moment before Solona realized she was holding her breath. Even at night, with so little to be seen under the cloak of darkness, the view was still immeasurably better than her little watchtower roof.

Long silent moments stretched by; if it weren’t for her Warden sense she would have forgotten Nathaniel was there altogether. Slowly the cold and silence invaded her consciousness, filling her with a welcome peace. The only sound that came was the brief hiss of Nathaniel extinguishing the brazier after he’d gently taken it from her hand.

Eventually though, he broke the silence..

“Where is your family, Solona?” His elbow brushed against hers.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “They might as well be dead. They haven’t been my family since I was eight years old.”

“That’s when you went into the circle?” he asked. Solona nodded. She was tempted to close her eyes to capture the sound of his voice, to roll it around in her mind, savoring it like she would a flavor on her tongue. It really was lovely. His elbow against hers pressed with slightly more force, and she wondered if he was moving in closely or if she was doing it herself. A flash of his eyes filled her mind, with that intense look of longing that he held sometimes. Her stomach, already so twisted and unsettled for so many reasons, seemed to flip entirely upside down. What was he longing _for_ exactly?

“That seems young,” he said. “I’ve heard of others going in much later than that…”

Solona shrugged. “If I remember correctly, magic was strong in my family’s blood. They might have known the early signs better than most.”

Glancing toward him, Solona studied the shadow of his profile. It was easier to do in the dark, with the movements of her eyes shrouded by the veil of night. The pale skin of his face stood in sharp contrast to his hair and surrounding blackness, making it easy to follow the line of his nose, his strong jaw, his full lips. His face turned toward her just as a flash of lightning bathed him in vibrant silver light, and Solona felt her breath hitch.

_Fuck. He’s beautiful._

“I know the name Amell. There are Amells in Kirkwall,” he said. The silence after he spoke filled with the growing rumbling of thunder. Solona waited for it to pass before she answered.

“I was born in Kirkwall. But we came to Ferelden a few years before they handed me over.”

“Do you… ever think about trying to find them?” he asked cautiously. “Your parents? It should be easy to do. In fact, I still have many friends in Kirkwall, I could write to them for information. At the very least I could get an address for you.” Solona looked toward him again, confirming that he was still watching her. The place their elbows touched seemed to be tingling, her awareness of his closeness growing more difficult to ignore. The roiling in her stomach worsened, one minute feeling something close to elation, the next crushed by a terrifying guilt. Swallowing hard, she pulled her flask out of her pocket again, drinking down all but a little of what whiskey remained. She offered the last to Nathaniel. He tilted his head, looking at her with concern.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude,” he said.

Solona coughed down the large mouthful of liquid fire. Nathaniel’s fingers closed over hers for a moment as he accepted the flask. Solona winced at the feeling it invoked, the powerful desire for them to stay where they were, to reach for him and pull him closer. She almost clutched hard at the flask, not allowing him to take it so that his fingers would have to remain in place over hers. And then in kneejerk fashion she forced herself to release it, withdrawing her hands as though his touch burned. He fumbled for half a second, but quickly got the falling flask under control, throwing the last of the whiskey back in a single gulp. Solona’s heart pounded in her ears. She wasn’t even sure what she was reacting to. Was it the fact that she wanted Nathaniel to touch her, or was it the prospect of…. Of being rejected by her own family again? They’d already done it once, why wouldn’t they do it a second time?

 _Well,_ came her inner voice, _because she was the fucking Hero of Ferelden, that’s why. And besides, they had no choice but to put her in the circle. No parent has a choice in that._

 _Still,_ came another voice entirely, _Mother only wrote for, what, six? Eight months? Never a peep from father. Less than a year for them to move on with their lives, as though their daughter, their_ own fucking flesh and blood _never existed._

_If they were still alive, then they would have already heard her name, just like every other living person in Ferelden. It was common knowledge now that the mage who’d survived the final fight that ended the blight is named Solona Amell. If they lived then they knew their daughter was alive. They were the ones who’d handed her over so easily, the least they could do is be the ones to track her down. They could have, if they wanted to._

“Solona?” Nathaniel asked. She heard it only distantly.

_That settles it then, doesn’t it? Either they’re dead, or have chosen not to try to find her._

Gulping at the cool night air, Solona grasped onto the iron railing, trying to steady herself.

“No thank you,” she forced out, trying to make it sound natural. “I appreciate the offer, but please don’t write your friends.”

A new flash of lightning revealed black furrowed brows over concerned blue eyes. She resisted the urge to fall toward him, to let him catch her. He would catch her, she knew he would.

Or… maybe he wouldn’t. It had only been a handful of minutes since he expressed the desire to have his own family back. And here she had a chance for hers and she was rejecting it. That didn’t sit well with her, surely it wouldn’t with him either. Solona shifted, glancing toward him. Standing completely still, he stared down into the countryside, the air around him heavy.

“I’m afraid they wouldn’t want me,” she confessed. The warmth of the liquor in her belly made the words come out easier than she expected.

“What?” he asked with genuine surprise. “Why in Andraste’s name wouldn’t they?”

“If they did, they could find me themselves. They could have done so already. They gave me up, left me alone in that place with all those strangers… And now _they’re_ the strangers. I don’t know them. It wouldn’t be the same as you getting your mother back, or your sister. These are people who… I have no reason to trust. Or to love.”

Nathaniel turned toward her, and she felt precisely what her mind had been on alert for: a heavy, warm hand resting on her forearm. Without meaning to, she leaned into his touch. The slight adjustment toward him seemed to provide encouragement, and the hand slid up her elbow and toward her shoulder. A wave of butterflies took flight in her chest. If it continued his arm was going to end up around her, and _Maker, that would be nice._ She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation, the weight and the warmth. It seemed so different this time. They were no strangers to touching each other, but it had been so casual before, so _meaningless_.

And then, came a flash of Alistair. Solona winced as the thought of him invaded her mind, turning the butterflies to daggers that pierced painfully through her conscience. Her plan to join him was already in motion. Her successor had been decided. Solona was leaving this realm at the earliest opportunity. Yet she’d thought of Alistair surprisingly little since setting out from her room with Nathaniel after dinner, much less than usual anyway. Her body went stiff as Nathaniel’s touch continued to travel, but he stopped, sensing her tension.

“Solona,” he said again. _Fucking hell it didn’t help to have him saying her name like that._

A bright web of lightning stretched across the sky and for a moment she could see Nathaniel clearly. Hovering close, his eyes brightened by that inner fire of his, it would only require a single step forward to put herself against him. But Solona couldn’t move, frozen by equal desire to move closer and to run, to get away before she did something she’d regret.

Out the corner of her eye, a strange movement. Nathaniel and she both turned their heads toward it, waiting for the next lightning bolt to reveal what it was that they saw. Nathaniel’s hand remained motionless at her shoulder, but his grip twitched, tightening slightly. Inwardly, Solona wished for darkspawn. Something to fight, something to _do,_ some reason to extricate herself from this precarious moment where she was probably going to do exactly the wrong thing.

“Darkspawn,” Nathaniel stated after the next flash. The clouds were moving closer, the thunder sounding off much more quickly after each bolt. Solona felt a powerful calm come over her at the confirmation.

“Let’s go get them,” she said, all her worries and anxiety fading at the prospect of a good fight.

Nathaniel shook his head.

“We don’t need to,” he said decisively. “Sun’s down, the gate’s closed. They’re not getting in, and there’s no one out there for them to harm.”

Solona pulled away from Nathaniel, already feeling the adrenaline begin to flood her bloodstream. With each step away from Nathaniel she felt her clarity returning.

“Fine,” she shrugged. “Stay here. I’ll go by myself.”  


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picking right up off the last chapter, before she leaves the balcony. In case it's not clear, since it's been two weeks since the last update. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who leaves kudos and comments! Your comments give me life!

“Technically, Nathaniel laughed, “ _I_ don’t need to go anywhere to get those darkspawn, Solona.”

His unexpectedly casual tone stopped her in her tracks. Solona glanced over her shoulder to see Nathaniel poised against the balcony rail with his bow drawn, an arrow nocked. Holding his shoulders in the coiled way he did when he was aiming, his silhouette seemed to merge more with the darkness for each second he stood motionless. Curious, Solona abandoned her departure and turned to rejoin his side. The darkspawn were far enough out that their presence hadn’t yet entered the range of sensation, so Nathaniel could only fire by sight. But there was so little to see, the landscape ahead a changing miasma of black on black in the absence of lightning.

Scanning the hillside, Solona stilled herself, part of her focused on the search for identifying movements in the landscape, part of her tuning deeply into Nathaniel. Careful not to get so close as to touch him and disturb his aim, the intensely focused listening imparted a zen-like effect. All sound seemed to disappear except for the even, intimate rhythm of his breathing.

And then there was light; a flickering bolt from the stormclouds bathed the hills in brilliance, revealing mounds of rising green against a black sky. Nathaniel’s breath hitched and held, causing Solona to tense with anticipation. The moment lasted only a fraction of a second before darkness uneventfully fell again.

Solona let out the breath she’d been holding, figuring he’d need a more sustained flash of light in order to hit a target at such a distance. A sympathetic look in his direction revealed him standing loosely, his bow lowered to his side. The next flash uncovered increased movement on the hill, drawing Solona’s eye just in time to register a single distant figure splayed upon the ground, and five other shadows scrambling for cover.

Solona laughed, genuinely impressed. She’d not heard the moment he fired, nor seen the movement in the corner of her eye. Her next glance at Nathaniel had him in position again with a second arrow. Her eyes searched the darkness, dilated, waiting for the next brief illumination of the hill. A tingle, a whisper of sensation right on the periphery of her awareness put the darkspawn into place before her, their movement growing clearer with each lumbering advance toward the Keep. Senses cast wide, Solona gripped the iron railing hard as she struggled to discern the details of the darkspawn’s rank and power.

Air knocked from her lungs, Solona flew through space, her body whirled off its feet by a strong arm. A furious _thunk_ resounded behind her, an arrow returned from the hillside beyond and embedded deep into the wood frame of the door, carrying with it a whiff of darkspawn death. Magic thrummed in her veins, the scent of darkspawn decay triggering a welcome rush of adrenaline. An attempt to step sideways found Nathaniel’s arm still protectively wrapped around her waist, his body positioned startlingly close. Yanked from her place beside the rail, she now rested against the stone wall beside the door. Only inches away, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the familiar warmth of his distinctive scent. A shifting on her feet brushed her thigh against his, igniting a heat that pooled low in her belly. Solona suddenly felt breathless.

Another sharp ping sang out closeby, followed by a crack of glass as a second arrow struck the door.

“Okay,” Nathaniel breathed. “We can go now.”

  


The small rooms of the Keep disappeared in a blur behind them. Descending the stairs with adrenaline-fueled speed, they met the still, cold air of a mostly evacuated courtyard. There was little point in keeping stalls populated when the cold had driven most of the residents indoors, many of them now taking shelter within the Keep’s small tavern. With windows blazing warmly, the wooden add-on to the courtyard reverberated with the raucous sounds of soldiers releasing tensions after a long day’s shift. Solona also detected the presence of three other Wardens inside, none of their movements indicating a reaction to her and Nathaniel’s rush through the courtyard. Solona shook her head, mostly unsurprised but not inclined to blame them. It was easy to let one’s guard down while safely sheltered by the Keep’s walls.

Exiting the small door to the right of the main gate, Nathaniel and Solona stole out into the unprotected roads. Lightning came closer, snapping loose tendrils of white that skittered across the horizon. Thunder boomed over the small bay inlet to the east of the Keep. Lacking a coat, Solona quickened her steps, hoping the exertion would help her body to burn away the cold. Nathaniel kept close, the only evidence of his presence the internal buzzing of their tainted blood. Together they ran the length of the outer wall until the hillside opened up and the roaring of a river split the land in two. The pathway beneath their feet grew rocky, transforming into a stone bridge crossing the river, and then back into a dirt path again. To the right, hills rose up in steeply graded slopes, while to the left the bay inlet flickered. Slowly the fuzzy sensation of darkspawn grew clearer, their numbers still registering as five bodies, probably just another scouting troop.

Murmuring a few low spells under her breath, Solona’s palms grew hot, thrumming with the fast accumulation of power. The veil whispered around her body like an invisible web of gauze, pulling tight and thin where it reacted to her efforts to shape Fade energy. Her well of mana sat full and ready; Solona practically skipped ahead, impatient to immerse herself in the focus of a fight. The sensation of Nathaniel fell back and diverted up the hillside. A departure from Alistair and Oghren’s tactic of running ahead and directly into the fray, Solona felt unleashed in the knowledge that she didn’t have to aim her destruction strategically, nor concern herself with the risks of casting toward a comrade.

Up the hill to her right and heading toward Nathaniel traveled a quickly moving darkspawn. Blinking at the darkness, Solona whispered the words for a crushing prison, throwing it blindly toward the sensation of the spawn’s movement. A tense moment of waiting ended with the distant shimmer of purple as the spell landed on its target, trapping the spawn into place for Nathaniel. Up ahead Solona counted four others, one separated out and stationary -- likely the archer who’d fired up at the balcony — with one of the group radiating a substantially greater level of power. Toward the closest of the three, Solona threw an arcane bolt, watching as the fast-traveling orb carved a path of light toward the darkspawn, mapping out rocks and divots, a cluster of bushes and the trunks of scattered trees. It landed weakly upon the closest spawn body, much of its power spent covering the distance.

Sprinting ahead, Solona quickly brought herself within optimum range. One by one the darkspawn froze into place, leaving a gap of silence and confusion in their stillness. Mind blissfully empty, Solona gave herself over to the magic, opening her channels to pour power into a blizzard spell. The words of the spell flowed effortlessly over her tongue, whispered in mindless susurrations that came as automatically as breathing. Vibrations rose from her feet, reverberating up her legs and building within her solar plexus. The power contained between her palms brightened to a blinding intensity, doubling and growing with each repetition of the chant. Finally Solona released the spell, sending it forth with a percussive burst. She opened up the channel to the Fade, giving her body over as a conduit for a raging of magic. Her breaths turned to clouds of smoke while wind whipped her hair into her eyes. A quick check on Nathaniel placed him far enough out of the storm’s range, while the motionless darkspawn before her remained stubbornly in place.

Curious, Solona pressed forward into her conjured blizzard. With eyes squeezed closed, she stepped hurriedly through the flurry of ice, untouchable to the snowflakes and gale force winds she’d created. Vision obscured by both darkness and her storm, she focused on the tainted sense of the darkspawn, their presence wiggling like little worms inside her brain. She called up a fireball as she closed the distance between herself and the darkspawn, the fire’s light confirming the precise work of her fighting partner. Arrows protruded from the top of each blackened boot, pinning the darkspawn into place, leaving their arms flailing freely and teeth gnashing in frustration. But the darkspawn’s movements were eerily slowed, the power of the blizzard crystallizing the moisture inside their flesh while snowy gales obscured their vision.

A flick of her wrist delivered a bolt of chain lightning, blitzing from body to body, light bouncing off the swirling snow to imbue the remnants of the blizzard with an otherworldly glow. The explosion that followed as each darkspawn burst into a cloud of particulates impacted Solona with the force of a shove. Scrambling to find her balance, Solona’s feet dug hold of the rocky ground just in time to let her turn away from the flying shrapnel. A spray of shattered body parts pummeled at her back before ricocheting off into the windy bluster. The dying wisps of the blizzard spell melted into the very real storm that churned overhead; the caress of blowing snow giving way to hard, fat drops of rain.

Finally the icy dust cleared the air, allowing for a steadying breath. Another fight over too soon, leaving the adrenaline to drizzle out of her system as she stood watching the thin layer of snowfall melt under the growing pelts of rain. Nathaniel’s presence resolved itself behind her, coming closer until the pressure of his touch found her arm. He tugged gently.

“Solona, quickly!”

Turning back toward the pathway, she matched Nathaniel’s hurried steps, relying on her Warden sense to communicate his position. Cold water dripped down her scalp and neck, pooling at the collar of her robe before seeping beneath, inciting a powerful shudder down her body. All at once the sky broke open, dumping a deluge of rain that quickly covered the ground, sending splashes of cold up her boots with each step. Flickering light revealed an impenetrable shroud of falling water, blocking out any navigable view of the landscape. Cracks of thunder detonated frighteningly close overhead; Solona jolted with an instinctive attempt to dodge the oppressive sound. Nathaniel’s hand closed around her arm again, urging her to continue on.

Rain pierced like needles on her face, seeming to fly straight into her eyes from all directions. She worked her legs in long strides, charging forward despite the low visibility. The pull of Nathaniel’s grip seemed to have a purposeful direction, so Solona surrendered to his lead, head lowered to avoid the storm’s onslaught. The roar of rain grew louder in her ears. A sharp tug in a new direction plunged them into deep shadow and closed out the night’s sky, the sudden respite from the rain registering as a welcome shock.  


Panting and disoriented, Solona blinked at the darkness to recover her bearings. Feet away the rain continued to fall in sheets, but nearby rushed the river they’d crossed on their way out, with a black, stone arch curving overhead. Standing under protection of the bridge, there was little space separating the supporting wall and the edge of the river, but it was there Nathaniel had pulled her to shelter. She glanced at his shadow to see him hovering close, his hand still clutching her elbow.

With a sigh she wiped the water from her face and pulled tangles of drenched hair off her cheek.

“Damn, that rain came up fast,” Nathaniel breathed. Solona shrugged while stifling a spasm of shivers. Mind still blissfully blank in the aftermath of so much stimulus, her skin stung with cold. Nathaniel released her arm and wiped his face, wringing water from his hair. Stepping gently back toward the edge of the bridge, Solona peered up at the sky in the direction the storm had come. Through the dense fall of rain, distant flickers of light illuminated clouds blocking out the sky over the entire horizon. The storm was massive, its end nowhere in sight.

Solona sighed. “We should have just kept going back to the Keep, if we’re going to have to run through this anyway,” she told him as she turned to retreat deeper under the bridge. “Get it over with.”

“Could you see where we were going? I couldn’t.”

Solona watched her feet with each step, careful of the rocks that peppered the ground along the water’s edge. To fall into such fast moving rapids would be to disappear, the speed and depth making recovery impossible. Likely, an unfortunate action would result in being swept entirely out to sea.

Calling up a ball of fire for light, Solona swept her eyes around their little hideout, surprised at the lack of space that had been concealed by the darkness. Nathaniel flinched away from the sudden burst of flame.

“Some _warning_ would be nice,” he gasped, taking a quick step away. The fireball died fast in the moist air, but Solona saw exactly what she needed to in the brief moment of light. The stone wall of the bridge was closer than she’d assumed, with streams of rain pouring off the overhead ledge and cutting small rivers into the dirt at their feet. What narrow bank existed was pockmarked and rocky, with pools of water collecting with alarming quickness.

“Will this river rise?” Solona rubbed at her upper arms, trying to ward off the deepening chill. Drenched fabric pulled heavily on her arms, pressing its cold embrace around her body. Her robe must have absorbed several pounds of water.

“Not as long as there are no blockages downstream,” he answered. “Add checking that to the list of things to take care of before winter.”

“And if there are blockages?”

“Then we’ll be swimming back to the Keep,” he answered.

“Or just, you know, drowning,” Solona sighed. Strangely such an ending held little appeal in the moment. Nerves clenched in her chest as her eyes flicked over to Nathaniel. Even in the darkness his shadow remained regal. Still and tall, the draw she’d felt toward him on the balcony continued to tug on her; an accompanying pang of guilt vibrated below the pull. Squeezing her eyes closed, she turned away. Was there any point in denying these sparks of desire?

 _Yes, there was._ She’d already loved once — no, she _still_ loved another. It had ended in death and pain. It would do so again, but this time the death would be hers. The best ending, the ending which guaranteed no further trauma, was to fulfill her promise of eternity with Alistair.

And yet, her awareness of Nathaniel was unignorable. Through the roar of rain she detected his breathing, his every little movement. Darkness made the memories of their other time together more vibrant, scenes playing with vivid intensity over the tapestry of black. A flash of muscled, shirtless torso. Of eyes like blocks of ice that somehow burned white-hot.

And that voice, the way her name rolled out of him like a lover’s caress. “ _Solona._ ”

Her eyes searched the corner of her vision, seeking to chart his silent movements. An inhalation turned into a desperate gasp for air, her body suddenly seeming to be starving for oxygen. The roaring silence was cut by the inadvertent chattering of her teeth.

Nathaniel’s shadow turned toward her.

“May I give you my coat, Solona?” he asked gently. The rush of rain almost swallowed his words. Solona’s body drifted closer to him, a habitual response to wanting to hear him better. His forearm brushed against hers. Heartbeat banging forcefully against her ribs, a shudder radiated out from their point of contact.

His coat. Warm and smelling of him, it was a powerful offering she had no will to refuse. Though it would only be soiled by resting upon her soaked clothing. Though it had probably kept him warm and dry during the run, it was already too late for her.

“Let’s just get back to the Keep,” Solona countered. She turned to face the hillside, her mind already forging ahead, scrambling back up the hill toward the path. _Over the bridge, follow the road, left at the fork and then continue on until we hit the main gate._ It could be done if they kept their eyes at their feet and trusted the pathway.

Ready to surge forward, her first step toward the open air landed not on solid ground, but on something soft. A flutter of panic gripped her throat as her foot slipped and kept slipping. An attempt to recover her balance was met with complete disorientation; the surrounding blackness providing no hold for either eyes or mind to right itself. Space careened darkly around her, the lurch of motion flipping her stomach.

She fell back hard against something solid and the tipping of the world stopped. Leather coat, firm arm tight around her waist. Of course it was no surprise Nathaniel had caught her.

“You seem to like doing that,” she uttered without thinking. The racing of her heart continued unabated. Though no longer in danger of falling or slipping into the river, the body against hers registered as a different kind of threat.

“I suppose I do,” he said simply.

A long beat of silence stretched on. Caught during the act of turning away, her back now rested firmly against his chest, his arm circling under hers, palm flat against her belly. Behind her left ear the soft whisper of his breath. _I suppose I do._ Her head rolled back, coming to rest on his shoulder. The warmth of his neck radiating onto her cheek plunged her into almost immediate relaxation.

Solona sighed tiredly. The constant war of thoughts, fighting impulses and desires was exhausting. And what had it ever gained her? Nothing. But the nothingness was there regardless. The nothingness usually smothered the desire. For so many months it had been easy, _too_ easy to ignore everything and everyone. All feelings got swallowed up in the vacuum of grief and sadness, an ever-present, hungry abyss that preempted all wanting and laughter and hope and connection. There’d been no fight except to stay alive, at least until recently. Death seemed the natural state of things. Living, and living under the constantly repeating memory of Alistair’s death, seemed a macabre distortion of everything natural.

Still, she had a purpose. A promise to the Wardens. A need to exact retribution against the darkspawn. And somewhere along the way the battle had migrated inward. Her body still had needs, needs reawakening after a long slumber, and it was necessary to take care in how she satisfied them. To leave this world having carved a path of pain in others was never in the plan. Hurting Nathaniel was not in the plan.

As nicely as she fit against him, remaining there was a very bad idea.

_A very, very, very bad idea._

And yet, her body was turning, moving almost against her will. As though she’d thrown off the reins and allowed it freedom to follow its own lead. Nathaniel’s hands sliding warmly around her waist, her own palms finding the flat plane of his torso, sliding up. It was all happening anyway, and she desperately wanted to let it.

_Stop this. Stop this before it gets out of hand._

“ _Solona.”_ His voice traveled in waves of shivers through her body. In her mind she conjured up his face, the strange beauty revealed in flashes of lightning, the fullness of the lips she’d barred herself from noticing. Those lips now so close. Nothing he’d said or done indicated he wouldn’t welcome her kiss.

_I won’t do it, I’m just resting here for a moment. Just a moment._

Oh, to be kissed again. To be kissed the way Alistair used to kiss her, pulling her into him as though desperately trying to meld their bodies together by sheer force of will. To open her mouth and accept him inside her, to taste, to explore, as intimate and satisfying as making love.

In a slip of motion that felt as natural as breathing she found herself pressing against his chest, belly to belly. His breath hitched in her ear as his head bowed toward her, sending warm breath down her neck, a stubbled chin scraping softly against her temple. Palms dragging up his chest over curves of muscle landed on a heart pounding just as fiercely as hers. How perfectly she seemed to fit in his arms. How perfect it felt to have arms around her again. She breathed in his scent, her face reaching toward his collar. Each languid movement deployed as though through intoxication, her body compelled to follow some course charted outside her own will. Something inside her was seeking something inside him. A heavy hand pressed up her back.

_But Alistair!_

This. This was precisely the sort of thing Alistair _would_ worry about. The intrusive thought made her flinch. _There is much to worry about here._

The lure of his lips tugged at her mind, the desire to lose herself inside him was as powerful as any wish for death she’d ever harbored. It was the same in a way, wasn’t it? To drown your awareness in an _other_ , to lose oneself to something bigger, something separate?

She squeezed her eyes shut and called up that vision that always righted her: Alistair, bloodied, dying. Her love, fading out of the world before her very eyes. It was an image hard to hold onto; her body shouting its needs much louder than her mind.

A thumb on her cheek, cold and moist. Caressing the way it had done once before, by another shore on another dark, dangerous night.

“ _Solona,”_ he said again.

Heat smoldered between her legs, her breaths never seeming to satisfy the need for air. Distantly she realized how firmly she was clutching at his waist, her fingers smarting with the force of her grip. More than a thumb at her face now. His palm slipping under her jaw, pulling gently upward, urging her to look, to blink at the darkness separating their faces. Breath left her, her lips parting, ready.

A new flash of Alistair. Not during his death but when he was full of life. His eyes, deep and gold and brimming with love, love so intense, so all-encompassing it lanced painfully through her gut. A surge of desperation clawed at her insides like a wild animal. A need to see him again, to see _that_ again, that love that they shared for such a short, tumultuous, spectacular year. Why had the Maker given her something so beautiful, only to steal it away?

Outside the cacophony of her thoughts, her body continued to react. Breath on her lips, a whisper of a touch. Nathaniel smelled nothing like Alistair. He smelled warmly of leather and wood, a mesmerizing scent she wanted to drown in. Nathaniel was taller, leaner. Older and more experienced. His eyes weren’t brown, but they blazed with a raging internal fire, a fire that promised to consume her just as soundly.

With a jerk, Solona looked down, removing her face from the threat of a kiss, heart blaring wildly in her ears. Her stomach soured, bile stinging its way up her throat.

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry._

She had no idea who she was apologizing to.

Nathaniel shifted on his feet as he stroked her hair. His fingertips trailed lightly down the side of her neck, slow and lingering. Solona shuddered, a breath coming almost as a sob.

“I’m sorry.” The words repeating in her head spoke aloud. But no, it wasn’t her who’d said them. “Solona,” Nathaniel continued. “I’ve no desire to push you. But you… You must know…” He trailed off. A heavy, shaky breath in her ear. “How often I think of you.”

Solona’s head lowered further. A leaden heaviness settled over her. She waited for the ground to swallow her up. It was not the reaction she wished she could give him.

Shame silenced any reply, shame that she’d allowed this, that she wasn’t strong enough to resist, to keep things simple, to not leave a huge mess behind. Was it too late? Was it already inevitable that she would hurt him, no matter what else happened? How could she stop it? She should stop it, immediately. Put an end to all of this. She’d already let herself get carried away. Every second she stood pressed against him was only making things worse.

And yet his arms, solid and steady, seemed the only thing holding her up. His hands pressed, caressing, massaging at the small of her back. The strength to remove herself from his embrace couldn’t be found. Her forehead brushed his shoulder. She gave in and let her head rest against it, nestling into the nook of his neck. Her body followed its lead, settling in closer. It was exactly what she shouldn’t be doing. _Damn it, Solona!_

His arms tightened, their bodies braced against the other. Every breath he took, every beat of his heart resounded through her bones, galloping wildly, confusing its rhythm within her own. The excitement of his heartbeat spoke an answer to her fear. _Yes. It was already too late._

She almost expected him to ask what Alistair had once asked. _Do you think you might ever… feel the same way about me?_

Blessedly, he posed no such question. Only the sound of rainfall prevailed, until Solona groaned unexpectedly. Maker, he was warm and the sensation of his body against hers seemed an answer to all the hunger that had been wracking her body for days. Nathaniel shifted again, his head coming to a rest on her hair, his thighs brushing tantalizingly against hers. Ripples of desire ached between her legs. The next image came unbidden: her body lifted, back pressed against a wall, his mouth at her throat, her legs parting, inviting him between them. Leathers discarded, flesh bare and steaming.

She felt herself moving, seeking the crevices and recesses of his body. The way he responded, the way their bodies seemed impossibly compatible in size and position was irresistible. Leather under searching hands, long hair brushing her cheek… something about it all so familiar…

Solona straightened, pulling back to study him. A puzzle piece fell unexpectedly into place.

“That was you in my bed,” she declared. She barely knew what she was thinking until the words left her mouth. “A few weeks ago.”

Slowly, Nathaniel’s shadow nodded.

“You asked me to,” he said.

Solona blinked at him. It was a shock, not an unpleasant one, but certainly a confusing one. Confusing for reasons she couldn’t seem to comprehend in the moment. Nathaniel clutched her waist, his grip tightening, adjusting.

“I’m sorry. Nothing happened. I only held you,” he said. “I can explain everything.”

His words came tinged with worry, but Solona shook her head. It was a mystery solved, one she’d written off as a dream. She considered her reaction, unsure what was the appropriate response. Her fingers twitched with the desire to touch, to reach up to Nathaniel’s face to caress his cheek, to soothe the audible concern. The surge of tenderness swelling her chest was overwhelming. Instead of letting her body act, she forced herself to remain still. Things had already gone too far this night. The raging urge to pull him to her mouth, to wrap her legs around him and drown her mind in his body was proof enough of that. This new revelation changed nothing. Or did it?

Space. Space to think. Or not to think. Or to just relieve herself of this complication. That was what she needed.

Mindlessly, Solona extricated herself from Nathaniel’s arms. Somehow the shock had given back her ability to act.

“It’s fine,” she reassured him flatly. “Really, don’t worry about it.”

He stood silent and motionless. Solona was glad she couldn’t see his face. She was certain she was disappointing him, she was doing the opposite of staunching his worry. She was increasing it. He didn’t understand, but he was too kind, too worried to ask her to explain herself. All these things she knew with absolute certainty, though nothing in the darkness communicated it. And yet her body, still seething with desire, moved of its own accord. This time in the right direction, instead of falling back into his arms.

“Let’s get back,” she said. She couldn’t explain anything anyway. Everything was too jumbled up now. She needed to separate out the strands of her thoughts and feelings, and figure out what the right course of action was. If there was one.

Before she could say or do anything more, Solona sprinted out into the rain.

  
  


Back in her room, exhaustion warred with a new burst of energy. Solona lit the fireplace and stripped away her soaked robe before wrapping herself in a blanket. She had the nagging certainty that she’d done exactly everything wrong. Kicking at the rug, she recounted all her failures. She shouldn’t have held him, and allowed herself to be held like that. She _knew_ that! She knew it then and she knew it now. She shouldn’t have done most of those things she did. She let him think she wanted him, gave him hope for some kind of… something.

_Because I do want him!_

Pacing nervously, a thousand different impulses and sensations coursed through her body. If it had felt like that just to be held by him, then kissing him, _fucking_ him would be a whole new world of trouble.

_But is that really so bad?_

Solona shook her head at the thought, casting it away. The answer to that question, if it was what she was afraid it was, changed everything. It meant saying goodbye forever to Alistair. It meant committing herself to life in this plane, to remaining a Warden, to rebuilding and leading an army. It meant more pain, more loss. It meant waking up every morning wondering if that day was the day her love might be taken from her again.

What could be done to stop this? Permanently?

The first answer that came to her had her throwing a fresh robe over her head and breezing out the door of her quarters. Each step down the hall she felt the ache between her legs, still fired up and demanding satiation. Even if what she was about to do clarified nothing, at least it would quiet the insistent urge that was driving her to distraction. Turning a corner, she heard herself speaking aloud again, admonishments that she was glad no one else was around to hear.

_Who fucking cares. None of this matters anyway. At least this way he’ll know… he’ll know…_

Flashes of his eyes, the feeling of his palm on her face, his breath, his voice drove her steps faster, harder. She needed something to drown it all out again. Something that was louder than her memory, something close to the death that continued to elude her.

Facing Anders’ door, she heard laughter within. He already had a visitor for the night, of course. Before she had time to change her mind, Solona turned the latch and entered.

Anders was on his knees in front of the fire, before him a young, dark-skinned girl who moved quickly to cover her exposed breasts. Anders pulled his face away from her belly and eyed Solona with an amusing lack of surprise. His brown eyes sparkled, a brow raising questioningly.

“Excuse us please,” Solona said to the girl, her tone leaving no room for argument. The girl paused dumbly, and then nodded and grabbed a tunic off the bed. In the time it took for the girl to depart, doubts clouded Solona’s resolve. This wasn’t the man she wanted. But this man would satisfy this hunger in her body and put a stop to the thoughts twisting up her insides. Or so she hoped. While it would surely remain as meaningless as what had transpired between them before, it would still kill Nathaniel’s hopes were he to find out. Maybe it would put a stop to everything, let her continue along the path to Alistair that she’d already committed herself to.

She wasn’t sure that even made any sense.

Anders sat back and wiped his lip. “Commander?” He smirked at her and nodded toward the door. “She could have stayed, you know. Three times the fun.”

“Be quiet,” Solona sighed. “And take your clothes off.”

Anders’ smirk widened. “Yes, Commander.”


	14. Fourteen

Finally, a clear, dry night. Solona collapsed onto the rooftop of her watchtower in time to see the first stars peeking out of the darkening sky overhead. Stiffness wracked her shoulders, the first lungful of the open air catching in her throat. She rolled her neck and tried to shrug off the tension stored in her body. She’d been waiting all day to escape the prying eyes of the fortress

The day had been an awkward, confused chore, with a troublesome internal dialogue distracting her focus at every turn. It was still strange to imagine that she’d woken up that morning in Anders’ bed, her body chafed and sore from at least two rounds of furious fucking. There was no denying that he was a generous, eager lover, satisfying her entirely up until the point that he’d literally passed out. For a time her mind had been scrubbed clean of worries and doubts, but only until she’d returned to her own room and washed her body raw over the basin. With a fresh robe on she’d lain staring into the darkness, suffering through the eternal minutes of confused numbness, simultaneously aching for and dreading breakfast.

Wincing at the jumble of images behind her eyes, Solona slammed her palm into her forehead again and again. She wasn’t sure she’d ever in her life felt so stupid.

Breakfast the next morning — once she’d finally dragged herself off the bed and down the hall — had seen her turmoil resumed and amplified. Sitting with Anders ahead of her and Nathaniel to the left, she could only keep her head drooped low over her plate and let the curtains of her hair block out the view while she ate. Anders’ cheery morning chatter faded behind the back-and-forth of her own thoughts, while Nathaniel’s silent shadow continued to tug at something in her chest, causing her to chance nervous glances out the corner of her eye. He wasn’t even ignoring her as most men who’d taken a blow to the ego might’ve done. He’d greeted her with a warm good morning once she’d finally straggled in. A flare of disoriented boldness made her choose to sit directly beside him, despite the fact that there were multiple seats available. He’d poured her hot coffee from the carafe, and slid a plate of fresh biscuits her direction, with a little nod that seemed to confirm that he’d noticed they were her favorite. The boldness left her abruptly, like a punch to the gut. She almost spilled the coffee bringing it to her mouth, and had decided not to butter the biscuits in order to keep her trembling fingers from view. More than any other morning his presence reduced her knees to jelly. She was thankful she was already sitting at the time her nerves took hold, or she might have wobbled right over onto the floor.

After Nathaniel’s plate was empty he sat in silence, breathing in the steam from his mug, the pale of his cheek a sharp contrast to his ropes of black hair. He seemed comfortable and serene, giving away nothing of his internal state. A sanguine blush lined his tired eyes, but the bright grey-blue of his irises flicked toward her at regular intervals. Solona twice caught herself combing back her hair and smoothing out the wrinkles in her robe, her fingers fidgeting self-consciously over her appearance in a way she’d not cared to do in months. But this morning she was acutely aware of being discreetly watched by at least two pairs of eyes.

Anders’ were the easiest of the two to meet. She held his gaze with the same authority that seemed to turn him on so much during the night, both daring him to say something revealing and pleading with him not to. Something glimmered in his smirk, some softness that seemed equal parts amusement and reassurance, but each time he prepared to say something questionable he quietly deferred to her glare and looked away. Solona was grateful, even as she kept her fists clenched in her lap.

Scenes from their night together continued to flash behind her eyes, comically juxtaposing with Anders’ mundane breakfast gossip. That cheerful yammering sounded so different from the noises he’d made in bed, the coos and whimpers, the grunts and growls. With how abashedly loud he’d been, Solona was surprised she’d never heard him through the walls on any other night that he had company. Unless of course, he just wasn’t like that for everyone.

_His long, elegant neck thrown back in ecstasy, chest toned and lithe, hair darkened by sweat clinging to his temples. Lines of pink streaked up the length of Anders’ chest, the afterburn of Solona’s dragging fingers. Anders writhed and clenched, his hips driving upward, his cock pounding waves of pleasure up her belly. Musky scent of sweaty sex in her nose, hands sliding over moistened abdominals, Solona set a forceful rhythm. Straddled over him her eyes recorded every act: Anders’ sucking in a mouthful of her breast, before rolling her nipple between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make her cry out. His head yanked back as she directed his attentions with a fistful of his hair, his maple eyes blazing, eager for her next command._

He’d raised a curious brow each time she turned her head away from his attempt to kiss her mouth. She’d allowed him to taste any other part of her that he wished, but avoiding his kiss was the one emotional safeguard she could think to maintain. A deep, passionate kiss never failed to obliterate her defenses, a weakness of hers exploited by Alistair whenever he had a mind to get his way. She’d been powerless against it then, and couldn't handle the possibility of that happening again.

At first she’d wished she’d had more to drink. Her brain seemed to work overtime, flitting from admiring Anders’ beauty and sexual skill, to worrying over how she’d left Nathaniel, to trying to block both men out by forcing herself to think of Alistair. But Alistair’s body was so different from Anders’. She’d squeezed her eyes shut and tried to superimpose an image of her golden skinned Templar over that of the lanky mage, but the picture her hands transmitted disagreed with her attempt at fantasy. Everything about Anders was smaller. His chest was cut with strength, but not broad in the right way. His shoulders were toned and sinewy, but lacking any real bulk. The caress of his fingers was remarkably light, and certainly not the urgent, hungry pawing she’d grown so accustomed to during the blight. The pained whine of Anders’ voice a more feminine sound than any of Alistair’s throaty keening. So much of the experience of Anders was at odds with what her mind wanted, though that fact didn’t seem to inhibit her body’s satisfaction.

There’d been a moment somewhere in the small hours of the morning where Alistair faded out of her mind entirely and an untethered thought drifted firmly back to Nathaniel.

_Solona’s palms sought a trail over Anders’ chest and shoulders, wondering how different it would feel with Nathaniel. She closed her eyes and pulled the man in her arms upright as she resettled her hips and draped her arms around his shoulders, throwing her head back to allow him to bite at her neck. She breathed in the herbal aroma clinging to his skin and hair; an exotic, almost spicy scent, distinctly different from Nathaniel’s but not unpleasant in its own way. Anders’ touches changed based on her urging, and occasionally his fingertips tingled with some helpful magic. His hips constantly adjusted angle and speed, tuning into her evolving rhythms. It was not hard to understand how he might be welcomed again and again back into someone’s bed, even after he’d dashed their hopes for anything more meaningful._

She’d hardly noticed when Nathaniel completely took the place of both Alistair and Anders in her mind, her closed lids playing pictures of those full lips and nimble fingers dancing over her skin. She couldn’t help but imagine how the heat of that steely gaze might burn through his kiss. His eyes scorched in her mind as she recounted every his physical detail: his agile grace, his striking coloring, his soothing croon. The arms around her belonged to him for a precious moment; the whisper of the mage’s hair through her fingers could easily have been black to her unseeing eyes.

She’d had to stop herself after she realized she’d slowed down their pace, replacing firm, impatient touches with tender, affectionate ones. It had only been an hour, maybe two, since she’d run out from under the bridge ahead of him. His confession echoed again in her memory, making her stomach lurch so hard it forced an agonized groan from her throat. Anders misinterpreted the sound, his arms tightening around her waist, his stubbled chin scraping her collarbones. She tried to shake away the thought that Nathaniel might be thinking of her that very moment, but it stubbornly persisted.

_I think of you too._

Would she be in Nathaniel’s bed instead of Anders’ if she had stayed with him? If she’d said more?

It was too late to find out.

A deep well of anguish throbbed in her chest, her ribcage achingly hollow. Releasing Anders from her embrace, Solona unmounted him, and crawled ahead to position herself on her knees.

“ _Hard,”_ she’d instructed, and Anders had happily obeyed.

 

Laying back against the slate roof, Solona stifled a shiver and let her head roll against the stone as she peered up into the stars. Two freshly emptied flasks clattered together in her pocket, the liquor burning a hole in the pit of her stomach. The murmuring of the courtyard drowned out by the blustering wind, the prickle of her fellow Warden’s movements fading into nothingness as they relaxed into distant corners of the Keep. All day her mind had roiled with regrets, exhausting itself with what-ifs. With repetitions of fantasy in which Alistair was relegated to the background rather than the main feature. And sometimes, many times in fact, not present at all. Sitting there, alone in the dark, was the most relief she’d felt all day.

With eyes closed, her mind wandered down to the courtyard, involuntarily seeking the sensation of the man that had been on her mind the entire day. Somewhere near the basement entrance moved a Warden, but it was impossible to tell if it was him. Eyes opened, the stars blurred and began a lazy, alcohol fueled spin around the sky overhead. Cold air stung her lungs with each deep breath. She wished for the millionth time upon a distant fuzz of starlight that she could find some peace, some certainty. Death had always seemed the best way to find such things, but that option seemed further away than ever. She cast another wish that at the very least, she could know what to say to the people who made an effort to know her.

_Nathaniel, I’m sorry._

Solona sighed tiredly, figuring that when the time came, she could start with that.

Another tired sigh elongated into a groan. Solona’s fingers squeezed at the bridge of her nose. The noise inside her head slowly wound down, the bitter cold emanating off the slate beneath her losing its sharpness. Blackness fuzzed away her thoughts, her consciousness slipping, sinking into itself, finally giving up its grip on reality.

  
  


==================

  
  


Feeling unreasonably fresh and sober upon waking in her bed, Solona sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. At least this time she’d had the sense to remove her boots and get under the covers, though she still couldn’t remember the walk from the tower to her room. It was a mysterious yet handy little trick, this ability to get from a rooftop on the other side of the Keep to her quarters while blackout drunk. She supposed the day might come when she wouldn’t make the trip as successfully, but she’d worry about that when it happened.

Her mood stabilized, worries mollified by a deep night’s sleep, Solona took her place at the breakfast table feeling newly unconcerned with all the awkwardness of the last few days. Some time and distance seemed to have helped. What had happened, both with Anders and Nathaniel, was done. She was beholden to neither of them for anything. Even if Nathaniel did find out about Anders, which he was sure to eventually, did it matter if he had an opinion on what she chose to do with her free time? If it soured his view of her a little, that would make things a little easier. That had been why she’d gone to Anders’ room in the first place, right?

Clearing her mind, Solona focused on her food, on emptying mug after mug of coffee, of going over the day’s duties in her head. She’d asked a few questions of Anders and Nathaniel once breakfast was done, and then retreated to the main hall, where the Seneschal held several troublemakers who required judgment. Solona had insisted that the first criminal, a farmer named Alec who’d been caught stealing food, be recruited into the army so he could afford to buy rather than steal what he needed. The next, a soldier named Danella who’d gone AWOL, was imprisoned. Varel pointed out that executing the two of them would be much less of a strain on the Keep’s already overtaxed resources, but Solona held firm that the two deserved leniency. Once she and Varel exhausted all other conversation, Solona strolled out into the courtyard, where the sun’s rays slipped through fast moving clouds, alternating bursts of warm brilliance with spates of cloudy shade.

It was a day well suited for getting things done, with a cold numbness keeping her emotions at bay and her mind clear. Despite Varel’s scoffing, she felt pleased with the justice she’d metered out. Listening to both Alec and Danella plead their cases reminded Solona of the tragic difficulties endured every day by the common people of the land. The Wardens had an obligation to be a force of strength and protection for all the residents, and there was so much more they should be doing to that end. A cold realization that it wasn’t enough to just kill darkspawn began to sink in.

Glancing around the courtyard, Solona’s eye traveled to the other Wardens within her range. Nathaniel stood in deep discussions with Wade and Herren, his hands gesturing gracefully as he spoke. Oghren sat at a grindstone sharpening his axe. Behind her, traveling quickly, was another Warden she didn’t bother to identify, and somewhere inside dwelled the last.

_Five of us. It’s not nearly enough for the amount of darkspawn we’ve seen._

As she made her way across the courtyard toward Voldrik, she mentally listed prominent soldiers who might have a chance at surviving the Joining. Garevel would make a good Warden. As would that swordsman who often practiced below her watchtower, a blond haired man with broad shoulders and a killer lunge. It wasn’t as good as Alistair’s lethal lunge and slash, but it had been impressive enough to catch Solona’s eye a few times. Varel might not be pleased with her risking their soldiers, however.

A quiet hour passed listening to Voldrik drone on about his plans for the granite they’d found in the Wending Wood. The dwarf patiently walked her around the walls pointing out areas that needed fortification, same as Nathaniel had done for winterizations a few days before. Alec and Danella’s stories still echoed in her mind, growing into a lump of guilt that Solona swallowed down uneasily. Outside the Keep walls, farmers were having to steal to feed their families, soldiers deserting their stations in order to protect their homes. And here the Wardens sat, gorging themselves on massive breakfasts while safely protected by the Keep walls, however in need of repair they might have been. It was a much richer situation than the rest of the arling could claim. Solona resolved to revisit the Seneschal that evening and go over the budget to look for cuts that might allow them to send more resources out to the people rather than investing it all into an already functional fortress.

“Sol!”

Behind her, a Warden approached. Solona turned to see Anders jogging from the direction of the main hall. His jaw was set in a such a way that rattled her; it wasn’t usual to see him looking so serious. In the distance behind him, Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder to watch Anders’ approach.

“So, ah… just a heads up,” Anders began as he leaned in, “I happened to overhear some whispers among a few of our esteemed guests…”

Solona eyed him, curious. Leading her gently toward a more isolated corner of the courtyard, he walked close enough that his chest brushed against her upper arm. A light pressure at the small of her back had her instinctively pulling away from his touch, her heart fluttering wildly. She wasn’t sure if it was due to Anders’ brown eyes focused sharply on her, or if it was Nathaniel watching them from several meters away.

“Whispers of what sort?”

“Oh, you know. The _ominous_ sort.”

Solona sighed. “Specifics, Anders.”

“Look, watch your back is what I’m saying. Sounds like there are some people who think they can handle things around here better than you can.” Anders pulled his finger across his throat and stuck his tongue out.

A frown pulled at Solona’s brows, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Watching the dull shine of her boots as they crunched the grass with each step, she let the warning sink in. An assassin would have been a welcome prospect a week or so ago. It still was, wasn’t it? Her stomach flipped uneasily.

Solona shrugged, the gesture seeming forced and overwrought. _If it happens, it happens._

Her glance to Anders was met with distractingly warm, glinting eyes.

“Guests,” she repeated. “So a few of the visiting nobles and not anyone actually staying here?”

“Correct,” Anders confirmed. “It was rather vague but there was no question about the meaning. There appears to be a conspiracy afoot.” A long quiet moment passed while Solona tuned into Nathaniel’s presence in the distance. He hadn’t moved.

An assassin in the Keep was certainly an interesting development, and one she couldn’t quite muster the energy to fear. If anything she felt a prickle of irritation at their inconvenient timing. There suddenly seemed to be more things she needed to do first, though she struggled to identify exactly what.

Unsure what kind of reaction she was supposed to be providing in the face of such news, Solona’s focus returned to Anders. Under the cold light of the sun she could see his every flawed, beautiful detail: the flecks of green in his left iris, how the rough shadow of his stubble strengthened his jaw, his jaw and brow peppered with numerous small scars, likely from a few of the injuries he’d sported in the circle. His rows with the Templars had been legendary, with Anders bragging about them for weeks afterward despite his own fat lips and black eyes. She heard that the Templars would feed him magebane for a time afterward, so that he couldn’t heal his own wounds.

His eyes flitted around her face in return, seeming to soften with each passing second. Finally, his dour expression broke.

“You’ll be safe in my room,” His lip curled suggestively. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Solona snorted as she squashed down a smile. Part of her delighted in the fact that she was the subject of such teasing, after so many years in the circle longing for any of his attention. Part of her wasn’t at all sure she even wanted a repeat of the night before.

“Yes, _I know,_ you can handle yourself just fine,” he continued in his sing-song way. “Actually _you’d_ probably end up protecting _me_. Not that I’d mind. I do love a powerful woman.”

Solona’s cheeks grew warm. She cast a glance over her shoulder confirming that the closest person to them was out of earshot. Nathaniel’s back was to them again, but his posture was decidedly rigid.

“So anytime you want to come boss me around a bit more…” Anders turned to follow Solona’s gaze. “He can come too. I’m… _flexible._ ”

Releasing a quiet laugh, Solona shook her head and put a little more space between them.

“Well thanks for the warning,” Solona said with finality, hoping Anders got the hint.

He didn’t. She moved herself away from him, wandering toward the entrance to the Keep village. Pacing her, his smirk continued to spread.

The moment stretched on, growing heavy with words unspoken. Feeling exposed and a little embarrassed Solona brought them to a stop and crossed her arms over her chest.

“You really like that, don’t you?” Solona asked with a raised eyebrow. “Being _bossed_ around?”

Anders gave a little confirming shrug, but the glint in his eye grew to a blaze.

“By you I do. You scare me a little. It’s hot.”

Solona snorted.

“Okay,” she answered remembering that Nathaniel might still be looking on. _Might as well have a little innocent fun with this._  

“You want some commands to follow? Go help Lya with dinner preparations. Do whatever she asks without question. And make sure there are extra of those rosemary roasted potatoes she makes,” Solona said, her stomach growling at the thought. A smirk of her own surfaced. “And don’t even think about taking a bite of anything until we’re all at the table and I give you permission.”

Anders’ smile widened garishly, which he tried to press down as he gave an obedient nod. Without another word he turned to hurry toward the kitchen.

“Wait,” she called, remembering the reason he’d come to speak to her in the first place. He stopped and turned to listen. “Keep your ear open for more about this conspiracy.”

His covered the courtyard’s distance quickly and Nathaniel’s head turned as he passed, following Anders as he made his way toward the hall door. Even with so much space between them, Solona could sense Nathaniel’s irritated expression. He and Anders had never gotten on, but the tension between them over the past week seemed to be escalating, almost as if they both knew. Solona sighed and scanned the yard for something distracting to do. A pang of uneasiness shot through her. _What a mess._

  


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Nathaniel gathered up the new silverite arrowheads that Wade had crafted him, rolling them into a length of leather that he could pocket until he could add them to his new supply of arrows. Wade’s work was impeccable as always, upping the armor piercing capabilities of his arrows significantly, which was good considering a few of the darkspawn they’d encountered recently had surprisingly heavy armor. He sighed as he tucked the rolled leather away inside his lapel.

“Anything else you need?” Herren asked, tapping his foot.

“Not sure yet,” Nathaniel said as he hovered over a collection of enchanted rings and pendants. Jewelry felt so out of place on him, but shit if those enchantments weren’t useful at times.

The sensation of Anders finally passed by, heading back into the main hall. Nathaniel watched the mage as he swaggered toward the door and then chanced another glance toward Solona, seeing her frowning down at her boots, her brows cut into a deeper scowl than even her usual. Whatever Anders had said to her, despite his overly-familiar gestures and that blighted cockiness of his, hadn’t seemed to be particularly good news. Nathaniel had tried not to watch them, telling himself again and again that she’d made her wishes clear, that it was time to stop being so fixated. Both mornings since that night he’d made an effort to make himself approachable in case she wanted to talk. But it had been nearly 36 hours and she’d shown no inclination to do so. _Time to move on._

Still his eyes were drawn to her, the way it had been since the day they’d met, though she’d changed a little in the past several days. She looked a little more put together, her hair clean and loose from its usual messy bun, hanging in a glossy sheet down her back. The rich brown of her hair and eyes stood in stark contrast to her porcelain-pale skin, but she didn’t look gaunt anymore. Her robe was one of her usual, a velvety emerald green with a high collar which fit smartly against her slender body, but it too seemed to pop with a new freshness. More and more she seemed to exist in a vibrant burst of color, where so much of the rest of the Keep was grey and dingy.

The memory of carrying her back into her room the night before invaded his memory, and for a second Nathaniel closed his eyes and fell into it. The cold night air had caused her to curl against his chest, allowing him to breathe in her delicate scent. She hadn’t stirred at all for the whole walk back to her room, nor as he unlaced her boots, and made sure she was warm under her blanket. He went through the motions as though they were the last time he ever would. Part of him had even wanted her to wake, to force him to explain. And part of him was quite insistent that he needed to stop making things so hard on himself. The memory of his rejection still stung deeply, causing a sour roiling of his stomach.

But it hadn’t quite been a full rejection, had it? Before she’d run, she’d held him back.

A sharp movement of her head, cocking as though she was listening to something, piqued his curiosity. Trying not to appear obvious, Nathaniel kept her fixed in the corner of his vision. Her body went still as her head turned, scanning the lawn behind her. Carefully, she took slow steps through the grass, moving as though on a hunt and trying not to startle her prey. There was nothing unusual that Nathaniel could see: just the quaint little cottages of the lower Keep village, with edges of bushes and vines, all spindly and dry and they too prepared for winter. In the distance a man hammered his roof. An elven woman walked briskly from one cottage to another, her arms loaded with a pile of clothing. She was headed for the cottage that he remembered used to belong to a seamstress.

Solona bowed her head as she slowed her step, her brows drawn as she watched her target. Finally, she came to a stop beside a crate and crouched down. Stepping away from the jewelry counter, Nathaniel leaned against one of the beams at the entrance of Wade’s little enclosure. When Solona stood again, face soft with the beginning of a smile, she was cupping a fuzzy orange little ball against her chest.  Nathaniel watched openly as she conducted a quick search around the crate and then peered into the yard behind her. Finally she approached the door of the nearest cottage and knocked. When a grizzled man answered she held up the ball of orange fluff, her body moving, motioning as she spoke. The man shook his head and gave her an apologetic shrug and a small bow, before closing the door. Turning, Solona’s eyes landed on Nathaniel. She offered him a shrug of her own, before pausing to gently bounce the creature she held, caressing it as though attempting to comfort it. Nathaniel could only just make out the shape of the fluff: an orange tabby kitten.

Meeting his eyes again, she appeared flummoxed, searching for some clear indication of what to do next. Nathaniel laughed. He wouldn’t know what to do with a kitten either. Just set it back down and leave it alone? That would depend on if it seemed healthy, well-fed, old enough to be away from its mother. If it looked abandoned and in need of care… well that would make things a little more complicated. Bowing her head to cuddle the little creature, Solona’s lips began to move, seemingly murmuring soft reassurances.

The impulse seized him and he turned to walk toward her. Long strides into the courtyard, heart in his throat, he wasn’t even sure what he was going to say. _Damn it, Nathaniel, just leave her alone!_ One step faltered as he almost listened to that chiding voice. He _should_ leave her alone. How much clearer could it get, running away from him after he’d confessed what he had to her?

But then her face turned toward him, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. Those luminous eyes widened as she realized he was coming straight for her. Steeling himself, Nathaniel tested out a little smile. Her lip curled, her eyes catching the sun. He’d seen little smirks from her before, but never had she brightened up as genuinely as she seemed to be doing just then.

“Nate? Little Nate, is that you?”

A voice from the past buzzing in his ear, Solona’s gaze broke and turned toward a slender figure appearing in his periphery. Nathaniel kept moving toward her, his body compelled forward. Her eyes darted between whoever else was speaking and Nathaniel, glowing a deep reddish brown in the sunlight. _Maker, she’s lovely._ Strange, though, that someone might call him Nate. No one around here did that anymore. The voice came again, sparking some dull flame of recognition. Stopping in his track, Nathaniel took in the approaching man. Slim and lanky in the way of most elves, the man had a familiar smile and wiry grey hair.

“Samuel? Groundskeeper Samuel, is that you?”

“It is you! Maker’s breath. Of course it is! I’d know that face anywhere!”

A swell of elation filled Nathaniel’s chest, almost propelling him forward to embrace the man. Memories surfaced and swam painfully through his mind: long summer afternoons watching Samuel toil in the sun,  Samuel clucking irritatedly at him and Thomas as they chased each other through the courtyard. Offering sympathetic looks to Nathaniel and his siblings whenever they hid in the villages from his father’s occasional tirades. He’d even once whittled a little horse for Nathaniel as a nameday gift.

“Groundskeeper Samuel!”

Had Samuel been here the whole time? Questions. He had so many questions he hardly knew where to begin.

“I’m overjoyed that you stayed on! Please, do you know how my brother died?” Nathaniel closed the space between them, taking the man’s hand in an affectionate shake. “And my sister? I… was in the Marches.”

Solona approached too, her movement a slow tickle in his mind, providing a fleeting distraction to the new flood of emotions. His chest began to ache, swarming with bittersweet memories, and an unwelcome reminder that his family was more than just absent. At times he pretended they were just abroad, that someday they’d return to take up residence in the Keep. Death was so final, so… incomprehensible.

“Your brother died in the war,” Samuel informed him gravely. Nathaniel nodded. It was as he’d expected. The sensation of Solona continued to come closer, silent and slow. Nathaniel’s eyes flicked to her to see her watching Samuel intently, listening.

“But Lady Delilah…” Samuel continued, “don’t you know? She isn’t dead, or not that I know of.” Nathaniel stared at him dumbly, unsure he’d heard correct.

“Last I heard she married a storekeep in Amaranthine. Don’t know which one. Poor girl.”

Blinking at the man before him, Nathaniel let the words sink in. Could it be true? His sister lived?

He couldn’t help but turn toward Solona, now only steps away.

“Did you hear that?” he asked, beaming. His question was clearly unnecessary; she had heard it all. “My sister’s alive!”

“That’s wonderful news.” She came to a stop beside him and flashed a quick smile to Samuel. Held tight against her chest, the little kitten mewled. Solona petted it absent-mindedly as her eyes flicked back and forth between the men. Nathaniel turned back to Samuel, his chest on the verge of bursting. The man had grown thinner in his advanced age. Resisting the urge to pull the man into a bear hug, Nathaniel thanked him, promising to come visit him at his shop when Nathaniel had a chance.

“Could we ask around the shops next time we’re in Amaranthine?” he asked Solona. They were supposed to head there soon anyway. There was a whole list of supplies Nathaniel needed and Solona had said something at breakfast about picking up a package from one of the merchants there.

“Of course,” she answered. “We’ll leave at first light.”

 


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a long time since my last update. My homework load has gotten really heavy for the semester, and it will probably continue for at least the next month or two. But thanks so much to anyone who sticks with me! I really hate getting chapters out so far apart!

“Ugh, smells like humans,” Velanna scowled.

“That’s right. Smells like piss and sweat and dirt and… _freedom._ Isn’t it glorious?” Anders answered with a wink. Velanna grumbled something under her breath as she cast a disdainful stare around Amaranthine’s rickety buildings and uneven streets. A breeze wafted over piles of rotting refuse that littered a narrow alleyway. Two blocks ahead towered the Amaranthine chantry, blocking out the early afternoon sun with its ornately carved spire. The entrance was a full level off the ground, requiring a climb up a staircase that led to a round platform and a statue of Andraste.

“Oh right, and I’m sure the Dalish camps all smell like bouquets of Andraste’s Grace. Do your people not sweat? Or shit? Or are your farts like sweet little sighs from a newborn babe?” Anders laughed.

“No. I don’t know,” Velanna sputtered indignantly. “You are a vulgar man.”

“Sweetheart, if you think _that’s_ vulgar, you should—”

“Anders.” Solona warned. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow as Anders immediately clamped his mouth shut.

“Call me sweetheart again and see what happens." Velanna glowered.

“He won’t,” Solona stated. “He will be respectful. And _quiet._ Right, Anders?”

Anders cleared his throat. “Right, Commander.”

Silence reigned for a block and a half, as the group peered down streets and around houses, not really sure what they were looking for.

“Velanna, is this your first time to a human city?” Nathaniel asked eventually.

“Fortunately, yes. I have seen them from the outside. I’ve never had any desire to enter one before. Still don’t in fact. But if I must endure one in order to have a chance at rescuing Seranni, then so be it.”

Nathaniel nodded politely.

“Speaking of sisters, what exactly are we supposed to be looking for here, Nate? I can call you that, can’t I? Natey boy?” Anders teased.

Solona felt the air around Nathaniel prickle, his back stiffening. She cast a glare toward Anders, whose smile only slightly fell. 

“What!? I wasn’t talking to Velanna!”

Aware that three sets of irritated eyes were bearing down upon him, Anders bowed apologetically.

“Fine! Yes! I’m a bad, bad mage,” he offered. Amber irises flicked to Solona, carrying that suggestive spark that seemed a permanent feature of his over the past few days.

“ _I’m gonna need a spanking,”_ he breathed in Solona’s direction.

Lowering her head, Solona ignored the remark, aware that Nathaniel was watching her, his posture still discomfitingly stiff.

“He still hasn’t answered the question though,” Anders added. Something about his tone rankled, and anger blazed up Solona’s spine. In a swift move she’d turned to face him, her hands balled into fists and already growing icy with building magic. Anders’ face fell into an apologetic mask. He raised two hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay,” he said. Slowing his steps, he relegated himself to the back of the group. “I’ll just be back here. Not saying anything.”

Gritting her teeth, she attempted to offer Nathaniel an apologetic smile. Jaw tensed, he regarded her calmly.

“Brunette. Petite. Looked quite a bit like my mother,” Nathaniel said. “You’ve all seen the painting of her I assume.”

Solona nodded and faced forward. Velanna’s head turned side to side as they past new houses and alleys, her face screwing up in various frowns and sneers. Nathaniel and Anders already knew Amaranthine’s streets well enough, and Nathaniel better than them all. Upon entering the city that morning they’d worked their way from the first market to those deeper within the city gates, stopping first to ask a guard if he might know where Delilah Howe lived. Each breath Solona took as they approached the next merchant seemed to vibrate with nerves. At times it appeared that her own anxiety seemed to surpass even Nathaniel’s, but she knew that couldn’t be possible. Though never a heavy talker in the first place, on this day Nathaniel was _too_ quiet. Solona stifled the urge to reach out and take his hand during a few particularly tense moments, wanting to offer him some small gesture of support. Instead she paced him as they searched the city, staying by his side rather than several steps ahead as was their norm.

Halfway through the walk, she’d already regretted bringing Anders. Being the group’s healer meant he was indispensable during battle, but for a quick afternoon away at the city they really had no need of him. He’d just joined the group as they walked toward the Keep’s gate, taking his place at the rear of the pack. Solona shook her head, wishing she'd ordered him to stay behind. The thought had occurred to her but she’d shrugged it off. Each day now she woke with a new confusion of feelings about the mage. For so long she remained charmed by his irreverent humor, even when others found him obnoxious, but the glossy veneer of her old circle crush had begun to fade. Which was helped along by the fact all the space Nathaniel had decided to give her had only caused her attraction to him to grow. Once eager to be the object of Anders’ attentions, now each time he waggled his brows in her direction it took effort not to roll her eyes.

Solona sighed. If only her 16 year old self could see her now. She was certain Anders' interest in her would go right out the window the moment she refused to play along with his domination/submission game, but as the Warden Commander, that game was built right in to the normal state of their relationship.

Solona turned to face him and Velanna.

“You know, you two are free to go your own way for the afternoon,” she informed them. “There’s no reason Nathaniel and his sister need an audience.”

Velanna scoffed. “There’s nothing here I need to se— wait… actually, does this city have an alienage?”

Solona nodded.

“Well, sure. I’ve heard terrible things about these alienages. It would be interesting to see how true the rumors are.”

“Anders, please show Velanna to the alienage?”

“Only if she promises to be nice to me.”

Velanna snorted. “I make no such promise.”

Solona raised an eyebrow, silently challenging his concern. _You know you like it when she’s mean._

“Fiiiine…” he whined as he led her off.

 

Left alone with Nathaniel, Solona suddenly felt hyperaware of her own movements. Concentrating so hard on not stumbling, her foot caught on an uneven cobblestone, forcing her to catch herself.

“I can leave you too,” she offered quietly. “I don’t want to get in the way.”

Nathaniel appraised her out the corner of his eye, his lip curling slightly. Butterflies took flight in Solona’s stomach, battering against her ribs. She couldn’t help but take in every detail of his face each time he glanced his way. The strong jaw, the stark contrast of his bright grey-ish blue eyes against his pale skin and black hair. He still looked tired, the creases below his eyes stained with a purplish-red. The need for air struck her intensely, and she gulped a desperate breath as she looked away.

“What would you do?” he asked. Solona blinked dumbly, her brain not providing the answer. She cleared her throat.

“Um. I have a package to pick up from Octham. Weisshaupt has sent down a few items, things they say will be useful against the darkspawn. The road between the city and the Keep is still a little too insecure to chance sending them directly onto the Keep.”

“Interesting. Must be important,” he remarked. Solona nodded.

“Well, would you… _like_ to meet my sister?” he asked gently. “Assuming we find her.” Solona took a deep breath and cast him another look. His face beaming warmly down upon her had a visceral effect. She nodded again.

“But I don’t want to impose. It’s the first time you’ve seen her in… how long?”

“Years.”

“And you…” the words caught in her throat. She could hardly imagine. To consider the possibility of someone she loved, that she had assumed was dead, that she had already grieved, suddenly had actually been alive that whole time… “you thought —”

“Just come,” Nathaniel interjected. The words hung in the air, no qualifiers attached. Warmth bloomed in Solona’s chest. With a sheepish grin she took another step forward, glancing around Amaranthine’s familiar buildings. The streets glistened with moisture from the overnight rains, but Velanna was right about the smell. Wet trash and molding hay imbued the air with a musty dankness, which wasn’t helped by the occasional chicken and cat darting through the dirt. Solona glanced up at Nathaniel and looked away just as quickly. The night with Anders had faded to the back of her memory most of the time, but those seconds it did reemerge it took effort not to wince physically. Conflicting desires knotted up her insides. It was difficult to regret a night that was so enjoyable, at least until looking up into Nathaniel’s face. It was him that she’d truly wanted that night. It was him that she wanted still.

How remarkable Nathaniel’s physical transformation was, and yet, nothing about him had actually changed at all. It was all merely Solona’s perception of him. This was a fact she knew but which never tempered the effect. Once sallow skin now appeared milky and robust, his hair a thick mane of black silk, his eyes, sharp and piercing, reflecting his constantly changing thought and emotion. When once she’d barely noticed his presence, now she felt sharply aware of his every breath. The desire to go back under the bridge and do everything differently twisted painfully in her gut.

Quiet, soft steps continued down the streets. Being alone together, though surrounded by peasants, remained unexpectedly riveting. Two pairs of marching guards passed, heading in the opposite direction. Solona eyed his hands as they walked, his fingers fidgeting for a moment before falling still again. But somehow the silence was comfortable, as it always had been.

“Your sister knows you live?” Solona asked finally, but quickly realized that was a silly question. How could he know what she knew, when he’d only found out about her himself? “I mean — nevermind, that was a dumb question. She couldn’t know, right?”

Nathaniel only laughed quietly and flashed her a wry smile. All the unsaid words since their night together collected into a lump in her throat. She wanted to rid herself of it, but the timing felt inappropriate. Surely Nathaniel already had enough on his mind.

A sharp intake of breath broke through her thoughts and she looked up to see Nathaniel striding ahead, his eyes fixed on a petite figure leaning over a table.

“Delilah?”

 

Nathaniel and the small woman hugged, her bright grey eyes brimming with tears as she looked him over. Solona found herself hardly able to look away from Nathaniel’s face, softened and beaming down at Delilah. Solona quickly grew to feel like a third wheel, and lingered only long enough to make a brief introduction, and to hear the woman explain that she didn’t marry out of desperation, but out of love.

 

Octham was nowhere to be seen when Solona approached his counter. A slender blonde woman stood in his place, dutifully glancing back and forth between a notebook and a cluttered shelf, making small marks in the notebook with a quill. Glancing up at Solona, she froze, her large green eyes growing wider as Solona continued her advance. When the woman rushed over to a far section of counter and pulled a package up from some lower shelf, it was clear that Solona had been recognized.

“You must be… er, well, I’m not sure how to address you? Serah Amell? Warden-Commander?” the woman tittered. “Probably Warden-Commander, right?”

Solona gave a quiet nod. “Sure, whatever.”

“Here it is. Your package. Octham said you were coming today, said the route between here and the Keep wasn’t secure enough for such an important delivery. We’ve never received a package from Weisshaupt before. Octham wanted to be here to give it to you himself, but Jillian, his wife—”

“It’s fine,” Solona said as she reached for the package. The woman’s hands lingered on it, as though reluctant to let go. Nervous energy radiated off her. Solona stood calmly and waited for her to release the small box.

“I’m Tinsley,” the woman declared, her eyes bright. “I still can’t believe we have Grey Wardens here. I mean, in Amaranthine. Like _living_ here. I guess it’s all the darkspawn, huh? I’ve read all about you guys.” Tinsley drummed her fingers against the package, and then caught herself. With a giggle, she slid the box over to Solona. Small and wrapped in brown paper, Solona still was unsure what it even contained. All Woolsey had said was that it would be helpful against the darkspawn. Shifting on her feet, Solona threw the girl a polite but muted smile.

“Well, you. I mean, I’ve read about you, Warden-Commander. And Alistair, and all the other heroes of the past blights. Jeez, sorry. Octham told me not to bother you with too much chatter. I told him I wouldn’t, but… I’m just. I’m in awe, really. You are all just true heroes. You ended the blight! Or Alistair did anyway, right? Still… knowing what would have happened if it had been you… such a sacrifice you make for the world. For all of us. I mean, truly the _ultimate_ sacrifice, right?”

Solona gave a stiff nod. The woman was speaking so quickly that her words barely had time to sink in. Even hearing Alistair’s name, a sound that normally made her physically wince, came and went before she had any time to react.

“Well, people die every day,” Solona said gravely. “If a blight was allowed to spread unchecked we’d all die anyway.”

Tinsley’s fingers continued their drumming.

“Yeah, but not like… I mean, it’s not like what happens to you Wardens. And especially the one who kills the archdemon.”

Solona stuffed the box into her pack, with the idle thought that perhaps she should offer the girl a chance to join the Wardens, if she was truly so fascinated by them. The offer died in her throat as Solona imagined day after day of chatter in her ear, following her around the Keep, asking questions. She’d only been standing at Octham’s counter for five minutes and she was already growing weary of the barrage of words. Still, it wasn’t the first person she’d met with a fascination of the Wardens, though there were fewer of them as time went on.

A sharper appraisal of the girl revealed nothing indicating an ability to fight, or provide a useful skill in battle. She dressed as a peasant and wore no weapons, her limbs were lanky and without substantial muscle. Clearly she was a bookish type, and not one who’d be able to hold her own against a darkspawn. Perhaps an unfair assessment, Solona acknowledged inwardly, but stronger women hadn’t even survived the actual Joining. Slinging her pack over her shoulders, Solona’s mind wandered back out into the streets of Amaranthine. She sensed no other Wardens within range, meaning Anders and Velanna must have made it to the alienage. And she had no desire to rush Nathaniel along from his visit with his sister. The hours ahead were wide open now that her package was secured. She’d need to figure out some way to pass the time before they all rendezvoused back at the tavern later in the afternoon.

“Death is death,” Solona answered her finally, before taking her first step away. Tinsley’s brows furrowed.

“Well, not…” Tinsley paused. Solona froze, curious. Tinsley’s frown broke into a nervous smile. “Well, I mean, not for the _one…”_

Waiting, Solona tilted her head.

“I mean, that’s why it’s such a sacrifice, right?”

Solona frowned. “Sorry?”

“Well, yeah, death is death, but normal people, even normal Wardens don’t lose their _soul._ Right?”

Solona turned back toward Tinsley, her body going numb with confusion.

“Or, do all of you? Maker, that would be even worse.” Tinsley pulled a thick tome up from below the counter and began flipping through aged, earmarked pages. “I mean, that’s not what the book said. I thought it said it was only the one who killed the archdemon…”

Frozen into place, Solona stared dumbly down at the book. Its cover was frayed and fuzzy, a dull bluish-grey that resembled a certain archer’s piercing eyes. Torn between wanting to get out from under the girl’s overwhelming attention, and a morbid curiosity for whatever gibberish the girl was spewing, Solona stood unmoving, unsure what she was waiting for. Finally, Tinsley landed on a page, a long finger skimming lines until she stood up straight, grunting a sound of triumph.

“See, here,” she said, her finger scanning back and forth, “…it says that if the archdemon is killed by a non-Warden, its soul tries to pass to the nearest tainted being, which would normally be a darkspawn. But when killed by a Warden, the Warden _is_ the nearest tainted being, and the interaction of the Warden’s soul and the archdemon’s prevents possession, but also results in _completely destroying both souls.”_

Tinsley looked up at Solona, her large green eyes studying her expectantly. White noise filled Solona’s head, obscuring any possibility of understanding the words just spoken.

“I mean…” Tinsley pulled the cover closed and looked at the front of the book, “this was the most comprehensive book I could find on the Grey Wardens… it was my grandfather’s. He said his grandfather was a Warden, and brought this back from… somewhere. I guess it’s too much to hope it was actually from Weisshaupt.”

Solona stared at her as she lowered her head, “I know I’m not supposed to talk about it, but it’s no secret for you, right? Sorry, this isn’t what I meant to talk to you about anyway. I guess I just, I mean…”

Solona swayed on her feet. Slowly, bits of what Tinsley had said began to reconcile themselves in her mind. She suddenly became aware that Tinsley was staring at her, her smile gone and replaced with a scowl of worry.

“Shit,” Tinsley muttered, “sorry. I wasn’t supposed to bother you. Please don’t tell Octham. I know I talk too much sometimes. I just get so excited.” Solona took a delirious step back toward the counter, her eyes locked onto the book. A nauseous souring in her gut spreading out, leeching the strength from her limbs. Tinsley continued to chatter, but Solona heard little of it.

“Let me see that.” Solona grabbed the book just before Tinsley had it fully closed. She spun it around and struggled to focus her eyes upon the small lines. Tinsley’s finger appeared, marking the line she’d just read from. Solona saw the words, but the truth of what they meant seemed too far away for her mind to grasp. “…the attempt by the Archdemon to possess the Warden fails, destroying both souls in the process.”

Three, four times her eyes passed over the same lines. The white noise reduced itself into a high-pitched mosquito whine. Behind it, Tinsley’s chatter continued.

“Thank you,” Solona said weakly before turning and stepping away.

Tinsley’s apologies receded. “… _please, Octham will never let me man the counter again…”_

One foot in front of the other, steps fell heavy over rounded stones. Someone said her name in greeting, but Solona was late in looking up. Unsure who said what, she kept walking. Her mind swam. Stopping in the middle of the street, Solona searched for a place to sit. Children with smudged faces played in a yard, wiry men rushed back and forth, carrying the objects of their days work: wood, leather, sacks of unknown items. One block over would be Nathaniel’s sister’s shop but Solona couldn’t fathom returning there so soon. In the distance, again, rose the spire of the chantry. Solona turned her body toward it, knowing at the very lease she could sit inside and think.

 

The pews were empty, save for a bent over old woman in the front who was immersed in her prayer. A statue of Andraste stood regally within her shrine, surrounded by the soft twinkle of flickering candles. At first Solona sat, the voices in her own head a susurration of whispers and cries, nothing making any sense. Movement in the back corner of the temple caught her eye and Solona spied a lay-sister moving about. With a breath Solona was up, striding toward the sister who was busy shelving a book. Quicker than she was prepared for, Solona stood before her. The woman offered a gentle smile and a greeting, one that Solona barely heard.

“What do you think it means if a soul is destroyed?” Solona blurted out. The sister tilted her head and gave Solona a skeptical smile.

“I beg your pardon, my dear?”

“If a soul is destroyed? It can’t go to the Maker then, right? He’s… the man — _person—_ whose soul is destroyed, they’re just gone?”

“That doesn’t happen, dear. The Maker protects his children. All those who seek his grace will take their place at his side in the afterlife.”

Solona sighed. Most people weren’t knowledgeable about Grey Wardens, or the taint, this she’d learned long ago. As Warden-Commander even _she_ still knew so much less than she should have. How bloody unfair that Duncan… that whole mess at Ostagar… if only she and Alistair weren’t left alone to try to figure everything out without any help… Pain streaked up her forearms as she balled her hands tightly into fists.

“But let’s say it was possible,” Solona continued, ignoring the woman’s pitiful stare. “Let’s say it’s something that happens under very specific circumstances. A soul is destroyed…”

The sister’s smile turned into something that made it clear she was merely playing along.

“Well without a soul, there is nothing to go to the other side, is there?” the sister answered. “No piece of the person remaining to seek out their place by the Maker. So, yes, such a circumstance would mean they were just gone, wouldn’t it?

The room began to spin. Solona sucked in a hollow breath, not seeming to find the sustenance the oxygen should have afforded.

“How blessed we are that such a thing isn’t possible.” The sister placed a warm hand on Solona’s arm. “This person, this _man_ , as long as he lived a good life then you can trust that he is at the Maker’s side, waiting for his loved ones to join him.”

 

Nodding absently, Solona stumbled back to a pew and collapsed down into it. Swallowing down an urge to heave, Solona squeeze her fingers at her brow, trying to quiet the storm raging in her head. The words the sister spoke rang false. Of course it was possible the book was wrong, wasn’t it? Solona closed her eyes and forced her mind back to the battle in Denerim, that Warden Riordan had been the one to tell them that whoever struck the killing blow to the archdemon would die too. Hadn’t he said something else about the archdemon? Something Solona didn’t understand at the time, so she’d merely written it off. _So bloody much she didn’t know!_

Solona growled in frustration, but the anger quickly dissipated away, replaced by an acidic despair. Flashes of every time she’d rushed forward into danger streamed behind her eyes, each time she’d lain on her rooftop, staring up at the stars, imaging that Alistair was staring back down at her. That he knew what she was doing every day. That he was there, somewhere, waiting. She’d spent so much time pretending she could feel his presence, could feel him out there, waiting for her.

Had one of those foolish attempts at death been successful, would she have been met with… well with anything at all? She couldn’t even picture it. To discard her mangled body and then be met on the other side by an empty room, devoid of even the single loved one she’d ever had. Or a Maker who’d never once done anything for her? A loneliness just as deep as that she’d known in the last eight months, only this one to last, unbroken on into eternity?

Minutes ticked into hours, or so it felt. The sun through the chantry windows changed angle. People entered, said their prayers and left. Solona sat unmoving, the shapes before her blurring into a kaleidoscope of dancing colors and shadows. The nausea eventually faded, leaving behind a dead, empty coldness. As empty and cold as the afterlife she’d been pursuing.

 

Standing, Solona walked without thought or direction. Despite the absence of any motivation, one foot stepped in front of the other, carrying her out of the chantry. Down the stairs and into the street. The sky had deepened into the harsh blue of late afternoon, and the time to meet the other Wardens neared.

Streets and houses passed by with Solona barely glancing at any of them. Around and inside her pervaded a hollow chill. She could scarcely guess how close she’d come to death in the past few months. How close she’d come to finding out that the place, the _person,_ she’d put all her hopes into might not have been there at all.

Could the book be wrong? She’d glanced at the front and saw a title, a name. For a moment Solona stopped in the middle of the street, suppressing the urge to run back to Octhams and ask the girl if she could borrow the book. Would there be more to learn of Alistair’s fate there? More to learn about her own? It seemed there was so much now that she didn’t know, so much still a mystery of her own existence, and this fate she’d chosen. _Damn Duncan for dying! Damn him for keeping her in the dark!_

 

Finally she stood before the door to the tavern. Behind the walls came the rumble of drunken revelry, laughter both high pitched and deep, the sounds of patrons unwinding from their workday and enjoying each other’s company. With a sigh of weariness that she felt deep in her bones, Solona entered. Her instinct to wince away from the sounds of joy and slink into a dark corner reigned over her movements. Her thoughts calmed, their disarray settling into the resolution to drink herself into oblivion, as she’d done on so many nights. The world seemed an even harsher place than before, and she needed to escape it the only way she knew how.

Fitting herself into a gap at the bar, Solona hailed Mick, the bartender, and waited patiently after he acknowledged her with a nod. Wine wouldn’t be strong enough this night.

Words from a gruff voice grumbled in her left ear. Solona picked at a gouge in the wooden bar top with her thumbnail, her mind fixated on those words she saw in the book: c _ompletely destroying both souls._ Solona’s body seemed to have doubled in weight, her head hanging heavily on her neck, her knees struggling not to buckle. It wasn’t until an arm nudged her roughly in the side that she realized the gruff voice was speaking to her.

“I said hey lassie! What’r you drinking?” A glance toward the voice revealed a bald head and bedraggled face that belonged to a short, portly farmer. His pock-marked nose was covered in little red veins, his eyes nearly lost beneath drooping red eyelids. Solona ignored him, glancing impatiently back toward Mick, who was arguing with a skinny man over a slip of paper that sat on the bartop between them.

“A little ungrateful aren’tcha? Most lassies would at least have the manners to accept a free drink,” he said. Solona shook her head. Her first attempt to answer emerged from her throat as a croak. She tried again.

“No thank you.”

“Come on, I know I ain’t nothing to look at,” he continued with a hiccup. The man was clearly intoxicated, and probably seeing double. “But I’ll make sure you get all the drinks you want. Tiny little thing like you, probably only need, what, two? Three at the most, right…” The man’s harsh laughter bellowed in her ear. He nudged her again, his arm lingering against her. Throwing him a glare, Solona scooted away.

“But I treat my ladies real nice, I promise. Ask Scotty over there.” The man gestured down the bar.

Rolling her eyes, Solona felt the Fade tugging at her blood, whispering a promise of immense power. Unable to remember the last time she unleashed herself in battle, Solona relaxed into the shimmer of mana, her fingertips growing cold as magic collected once again in her palms. Focusing her eyes on the man beside her, for a moment she entertained the possibility of letting him have it. What was left for her now anyway? The only person who had ever loved her, the only person in her whole life who gave a single shit about her, was dead. And not just dead. _His soul had been destroyed._

If the book was true anyway. And why the fuck put something like that in a book? Where would she even try to confirm the truth of the matter? Woolsey would be her first stop. And if not there, then a letter to Weisshaupt. But those words seemed to have already sunken in as truth. That there would be no eternity by Alistair’s side. There would be no reunion.

So what did it matter if she maintained a respectable facade anymore? Why shouldn’t she just continue to do whatever the fuck she wanted, just as she’d begun to do over the past few weeks?

“Here you are,” Mick said, finally making his appearance, and breaking her out of her momentary daze. He slid a bottle of wine in her direction, and she could tell by the aged label that it was a good one. Still, it wouldn’t be good enough.

“Something stronger tonight,” she said quietly. The short man beside her raised an eyebrow as he took in the vintage wine bottle sitting before them.

“Well shit,” he mumbled. “Maybe you should be buying _me_ the drinks!” He clapped a rough hand on the small of her back as he laughed. Eyeing him for a second time, Solona extinguished the magic thrumming close to her surface. However much he might deserve it, it wouldn’t be fair to damage Mick’s bar. This, after all, was his livelihood, and he’d always been so good to her. Always quick to hide her when she wanted to escape attention, and never letting her pay for anything. Solona sighed. Mick took back the bottle of wine and retreated to the far end of the bar. The portly man’s hand slid lower down her back, his fingers pressing suggestively into her spine. Solona reached behind to grab his wrist, plucking it away from its downward trajectory and dropping it back onto the bartop.

“I said _no thank you._ And _don’t_ fucking touch me.”

At the edges of her awareness, the tickle of another Warden, their presence growing closer and clearer as it neared the entrance of the tavern. Gripped by equal parts relief and anxiousness, Solona glowered at the short man beside her.

“Aw, there’s no reason a little lass like you needs to spend your evenin’ drinkin’ alone,” he slurred with another hiccup. He lifted both hands in surrender, “I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.” He leaned in close, his rancid breath steaming against her cheek. “This bar is full of savages, you know. I’ll keep ya safe, little lass. No one likes to drink alone.”

Mick slid her a new bottle, an unopened Antivan whiskey, along with a shot glass and a wink. The Warden presence was close enough now to have entered the door, and seemed to be making a beeline in her direction. Whoever it was moved silently, meaning it probably wasn’t Anders. Even Velanna would have been a welcome sight, though she had no idea what the two would talk about while they waited for Nathaniel and Anders to arrive. Solona reminded herself that, as much as she wanted to give herself over to the whiskey, there was still the walk back to the Keep, a 2 hour journey at its quickest. The realization that she couldn’t drink herself to unconsciousness sank in, flooding her with disappointment. Only steps away was the other Warden, but the man beside her still waited, hands raised, his invitation hanging in the air.

“I won’t be drinking alone,” she told him as she turned toward the approaching Warden. Tall and clear eyed, Nathaniel’s face still held the uncharacteristic softness she’d seen after he first sighted Delilah. Throwing a shot of whiskey back, Solona swallowed down the burn and reached for Nathaniel. She slipped an arm around his waist and watched his face evolve from a contented calm to a confused amusement.

“There you are, love,” Solona said, gazing up into the almost blinding beauty of his face. “I was wondering when you were going to show up.” He raised a brow, his mouth open but seemingly unable to speak. His arm slipped around her as Solona turned back to the portly man and gave him a shrug.

Grabbing the bottle off the bar, Solona pulled Nathaniel toward the tables deeper within the tavern. Most in the far back were occupied, with many of the city’s workers already in their regular places, enjoying their post-work drink. Moving as if in a dream, she angled the two of them toward one empty table along the wall, but it was one which was still well within the sight of Mick and her unwelcome propositioner.

_I actually like to drink alone, thank you very much._

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Nathaniel. “Please just play along for now? I just need that man to know not to bother coming after me. It’s this or a ball of ice to the face.”

With a curled lip Nathaniel gave a nod, his hand tightening around over her hip. After setting her bottle on the table she leaned against him, her recently acquired knowledge resurfacing in her mind, and suddenly growing to a crushing weight. She dropped her head on his shoulder, wanting to groan, to wince, to beat against something. Instead, for a moment she just rested, letting him bear the burden of her heaviness. In her ear thumped the even beat of his heart, his breath whispering against her ear. Trying to get a hold of herself, she pulled back and took a swig directly from the bottle of whiskey. Grimacing as it scorched its way down her throat, she looked up into his face.

The spotlight of his stare rendered her momentarily dazed, wiping clear the jumble of thoughts that had kept her gut clenched into a ball. Nathaniel raised a hand and gently combed a strand of hair out of her face. The soft tickle shuddered down her spine, connecting with the blooming warmth of the whiskey. A lump developed in her throat again, that familiar knotting of the unspoken apology she’d been carrying around for four days. She glanced toward the bar to see the short farmer flicking his bloodshot eyes in her direction.

“Solona,” he breathed, her name rolling off his tongue like a caress. “I owe you an apology.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and kudos give me life and I appreciate every one! Thank you!


	16. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay spring break! I had totally forgotten it was coming up when I wrote the note on my last chapter about all my homework. <3

“Why do you owe me an apology?” Solona poured herself a full glass of whiskey as she scooted the high-top table’s single stool out of the way. The other stools must have been taken, as confirmed by an oversized crowd of people squeezed around one of the larger tables in the center of the room. Nathaniel’s hand on her back slipped gently away.

“I was wrong. About you, about my father… the things Delilah told me…” He shook his head, his face lost in shadow.

“It’s fine, Nathaniel.”

“It’s not fine.” Nathaniel looked up sharply, brows drawn. “I was certain my family was destroyed for being on the wrong side of the war. But it really was all father’s fault. No conspiracies, just one stupid, selfish man. Delilah says father deserved to die.” He sighed and pushed a strand of hair out of his face. “It’s still hard to believe. But I should have dug deeper… before I acted. I was an idiot, and like a child I blamed you and the Wardens. And here you’ve even proven to be a…”

Solona waited, focused on his darkening expression. “What?”

“Well, a friend anyway. Right? Or am I wrong about that too?”

Solona gave a weak nod while bringing the whiskey to her lips. A _friend_. The word shouldn’t have been disappointing, yet a heavy regret settled into her gut. If only it could have been as simple as accepting the opportunity he’d offered to be more than just friends. But even now, with her back still warmed from his touch, distant thoughts continued to buzz in the back of her mind like a swarm of flies, new information she’d not yet had the time to grapple with, and which continued to tug strands of her attention away from the man before her. She tried to shake it all off, her regret growing heavier with each second lost in thought. What kind of friend can’t even pay attention when being offered a genuine apology?

Solona set the emptied whiskey glass back on the tabletop, and mustered up an uneasy smile. Nathaniel’s eyes flicked down to his own hands, growing distant as his lips slowly curled.

“But Delilah is alive, and happy. She wants me to come back and meet her husband. And…” He shifted on his feet, searching for a comfortable stance against the table. “I’m going to be an uncle.”

The look of pure contentment on Nathaniel’s face tugged at some sore spot deep in Solona’s chest. She took a steadying breath.

“That’s fantastic, Nathaniel.”

His eyes upon her again, saying so much more than his actual words. “ _You_ can call me Nate. If you want to. Delilah does. It was nice to hear it again.”

Heart fluttering wildly against her ribs, Solona felt her smile spread even as it wavered. Another nod.

“When is she due?”

“In the spring. She’s so excited. She always wanted babies, always dragging her dolls around the Keep and giving them silly names.”

Solona snorted. “Dolls like the one you said you ripped the arms off of?”

Nathaniel laughed, a free and hearty sound.

“Yes, I know I wasn’t the best brother then.” he nodded, his eyes growing distant. “But I’m going to be better. She’s— _they_ are the only family I have, and I’m not going to take that for granted this time.”

Unexpectedly, the sting of tears rose behind her eyes. Blinking hard, Solona turned refilled her whiskey. Another deep gulp, and the liquid fire traveled slowly from her throat and down into her chest. She couldn’t wait for its effect to rise into her head, and hopefully quell all the discordant forces pulling her into different directions. Pressing down fleeting thoughts of Alistair and souls being destroyed, Solona sighed and drank down the rest with a startling desperation. The empty glass clanked hard against the table.

“I’m so happy for you,” she breathed through the liquor’s burn while clutching hard at the table’s edge. Nathaniel was quiet.

 _Steady breaths,_ Solona told herself. _Just let the alcohol work._

Shaky hands reached for the bottle again, ready to pour another glass. Warm strength covered her fingers, gently prying the bottle away.

“If this is you looking happy—” he began. She heard a soft snort, and then watched as the blurry figures of his hands slid the glass to his side of the table.

“May I?” he asked as he filled it. Solona nodded, trying to force her eyes to regain their focus. The room shimmered hazily in her peripheral vision. Warmth bloomed through her body as the liquor took hold.

“No, really,” she gasped. She forced herself to stand up straight, and felt a steadying hand at her back. It was all she could do not to lean into his touch. “I am happy for you. Truly.”

Nathaniel took his own small sip from the half-filled glass and eyed her with concern. She felt exposed once again under his piercing gaze. Shame rose into her cheeks. There was no question she looked a fool. An unstable alcoholic who was a total buzzkill to everyone else’s good news. Solona steeled her back and tried to force another smile.

“I bet you’ll make a wonderful uncle, Nate.”

With a glance toward the front of the tavern, the hand at her back slid warmly around her waist, pulling her closer. Solona followed his urging gratefully.

“Your admirer is watching,” he whispered. Not caring to look, Solona nestled against him. Heat traveled the length of her as her chest bumped against his, her torso fitting irresistibly into the nook under his arm. A soft groan escaped her throat as tension drained out of her limbs.

“Have you given any more thought to what I offered? Sending a letter to Kirkwall? Surely you have family somewhere too.”

Solona shook her head, the movement feeling more insistent than it needed to. Inches from her face was Nathaniel’s neck, the stubbled angle of his jaw. Breathing in his scent, Solona felt a shaky calm come over her. The heady sensation of his closeness mixed with the whiskey in her blood, increasing her sense of intoxication.

“Would you be angry at me if I said I already had?” he asked gently.

“Angry? No. Though you’ve wasted your time. And postage." Head turned towards him, she stared dazedly into his face. His full lips pulled into a smirk, hovering close enough that it would only take a small motion to place her own upon them. The fire in her belly infected her blood, igniting a slow burn that pooled in the deepest recesses of her body. Solona was grateful for the liquor. At least the numbness it afforded calmed what would have been unbearable nervousness. But it also tempted her into inching closer, pressing herself a little harder than she needed to into his side. Raising a trembling hand, she laid it softly on his chest. Finally she glanced toward the tavern, as though checking to see if they were still being watched. Though the truth was she didn’t care, and hadn’t from the first.

“Your pack makes a nice arm rest,” he joked. Solona had forgotten she was even wearing the pack. The pack that contained the package she picked up from Octham’s. Curiosity struck her, and she pulled away, yanking the pack off her shoulders and digging within. Without explaining, she dropped her pack under the table and set to unwrapping the paper around the small box.

“What’s this?” Nathaniel asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

Paper removed and twine cut, the box opened to reveal four round, black medallions along with a folded piece of parchment.

“…when placed against the skin, the enchanted medallions conceal the taint from the darkspawn…” she read off the paper. Within seconds of picking one of them up, Nathaniel recoiled.

“It works?” She watched his eyes grow wide as he moved in closer, inspecting the item.

“It works,” he confirmed in awe. A heavy orb of onyx, the medallions had small holes drilled around their perimeter, and within the holes thin strands of metal had been woven, looping to allow space to string a chain. Solona offered one to Nathaniel. He accepted it, rolling it around in his palm. Almost immediately that spot in her mind which represented his presence vanished, leaving an uncomfortable void that made Solona shudder.

“Andraste’s tits,” Nathaniel laughed nervously. “I thought I hated our… awareness or taint or whatever. It made me feel sick at first, but I guess I’ve gotten used to it. This will be useful if it hides us from the darkspawn, of course. But seeing you beside me and not feeling what we usually feel… it’s unnerving.”

Solona snatched the onyx away and dropped it back into the box, relieved to feel the energy that represented Nathaniel fading back into place.

“I’m with you. I don’t like it.” Solona agreed.

With the box returned to her pack, and pack set on the floor, Solona reached for the half filled glass of whiskey on Nathaniel’s side of the table. He intercepted her hand, removing the glass from her reach. Glowering, Solona raised a questioning brow.

He eyed her softly and then raised the glass to his mouth, giving Solona the sense he was taking his time on purpose. “Have you eaten anything since breakfast?”

“No,” she sighed. “And Mick doesn’t serve dinner for another two hours.”

Nathaniel nodded, keeping the glass raised but not drinking.

“I’m going to go get a second glass,” Solona turned to step away from the table.

“Let me,” Nathaniel offered quickly. Before she could respond, Nathaniel had slipped away and was already weaving between tables, headed toward the bar. Solona noticed with annoyance that he’d taken the first glass with him. Scoffing behind his back, Solona took a swig directly from the bottle. _What business of his is it if this is what I need right now?_

In the minutes of silence that followed, flashes of the book at Octham’s invaded her mind, sending her thoughts spinning back into that maddening vortex of questions that she’d been trying to keep at bay. She could ask Nathaniel the same question she posed to the lay-sister, but figured there was nothing he could say to change what the sister had already confirmed.

_Without a soul, there is nothing to go to the other side, is there?_

Wincing as the words echoed through her mind, Solona dropped her head into her hands and rubbed forcefully at her brows. Months and months of fixation on one single goal had all been a complete waste. The thought of the emptiness she might have been faced with had she succeeded in finding death was chilling. Meeting Alistair on the other side had been the one solace that stopped her from completely falling apart, that had allowed her to get out of bed every morning. But she’d had no idea it was a lie. _And just how the fuck am I supposed to deal with this?_

A fresh stream of people entered from the street, young adults who laughed a little too loudly, shoving each other as they searched the room for an available table. Solona turned back to the bottle, determined to quiet the questions driving their daggers into her temples. Within the group came a pair of male voices, complaining about the flat ale in Amaranthine’s other tavern. It was clear by their exuberance that they’d begun the day’s drinking long ago. A body jammed into her elbow, and stumbled into her table, rattling the whiskey bottle and almost sending it toppling over. Solona grabbed it quickly and glared up to see a stocky, dark skinned man in leathers that stank of sundried fish. _Bloody fisherman._

“Well, fancy meeting you here,” the man slurred. He couldn’t have been more than five and twenty, but the elements had etched deep lines into his forehead and around his eyes. His calloused palms scraped against the table as he steadied himself.

“Do I know you?” Solona asked, suppressing a cough at the whiskey burn in her throat.

“Not yet,” he teased with a wink. Solona groaned.

“S’Right, you’ll be doing a lot more of that groanin’ when I’m done wit’ ya.”

A thud resounded from behind him and the man lurched forward. He threw a foot out to catch himself, and stood back up with a grin. “Hard to knock down a man wit’ sea legs as good as mine.” He gave Solona another wink.

Once again the man’s chest heaved forward. He stumbled harder, revealing Nathaniel standing behind him, glaring.

“Move along.” Nathaniel’s voice was stern and icy. Setting his two glasses down on the table, Nathaniel slipped back to Solona’s side, draping a possessive arm around her shoulder. The clear warning in his expression infused Solona with rush of grateful giddiness. Whiskey now surged through her veins, rendering her body loose and light, and aching for more of Nathaniel’s touch. With a smirk to the fisherman, who rolled his eyes and rushed to rejoin his friends, Solona grabbed Nathaniel’s waist in return, feeling the contours of his body as she pressed against him.

“They’re coming out of the woodwork for you tonight.” The sound of glass sliding across the table caught her attention, and she glanced down to see Nathaniel scooting a full glass of water toward her.

“I don’t know why.” She spoke each word deliberately, trying not to slur. “I guess I'm an easy target tonight.”

His shoulders raised in a slight shrug, causing his leathers to brush against her cheek. The warmth between her legs was growing in urgency with each second she spent pressed against him. His voice reverberated through his chest; Solona wanted to rest her head against it.

“You just look like a beautiful, sad girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders,” he said into her ear.

Snorting, Solona tried to steady herself. Water had been a good call, though if he hadn’t left and taken the glass, she might not have chugged half the whiskey bottle in his absence. Still, the last thing she wanted was to appear sloppy and out of control. At least to Nathaniel, of all people.

“I hate that word. _Beautiful,_ ” Solona grumbled.

“I know you do,” he laughed. His breath tickled her neck. He inhaled a jagged breath before speaking again. “But I won’t apologize for using it this time.”

The desire to dig down into him, to pull him around her and disappear was overwhelming. Mustering up what focus she could find, Solona pulled back. There was no denying that her heart was aching, that _everything_ was aching, in ways both desperately good and even frightening. But a quiet voice somewhere in her head warned that she was only going to regret losing control this way. One thought rose up within the din of everything else: if it was true that Alistair was irrevocably lost, if it was true that she was free to give her heart to Nathaniel, it would be better to do it right, and not lose the experience to yet another whiskey-induced blackout. Solona cleared her throat and blinked away the fuzz in her vision.

“I’m not beautiful.” She knew she needed to stop there, but words continued to spill. “I’ve never been beautiful. I’ve always been the invisible girl in the back of the room. The one nobody sees until it’s time to kill something.”

“You’re not invisible, Solona.” He scooted the water glass closer toward her. Agreeing that water wasn’t a bad idea, Solona accepted the glass and gulped. Cool and clean, the water cleared away the sour bite in the back of her throat. Picking up the whiskey bottle, she ignored Nathaniel’s concerned stare, filled his glass, and replaced the topper. She leaned across the table to set the bottle out of her reach.

“Well sure, not any more,” she answered. “Not now that I’m some big hero. And I’m not that either, you know. I didn’t kill the archdemon. If I had…” A soft pressure cupped her elbow closest to him, and this time she allowed herself to lean into his touch. It seemed a floodgate had opened somewhere inside her. She heard herself speaking, and felt strangely unconcerned with the confessions she was making.

“People don’t see me, they see my title. Or some ridiculous story concocted by bards and blowhards.”

The touch at her elbow squeezed. Taking a deep breath, Solona let her body come to a rest against his. New images invaded this time, but it wasn’t a page from a book with a line of devastating words. It was a shirtless body standing before a fire, muscular and lithe.

“I see you,” Nathaniel breathed.

“I don’t know why you’d bother.”

“Oh stop with the self-effacing bullshit,” he said with a soft laugh. Solona recoiled slightly, but relaxed again when his arm tightened around her in a gentle squeeze. “Look, did you or did you not unite the dwarves, elves and mages with all of Ferelden to avenge King Cailan and fight the blight?”

“Not by myself.”

“Of course not, but that doesn’t discount your role. Did you or did you not go into the battle with the archdemon, prepared to give your life to stop the blight?” He took another drink of his whiskey. There was a looseness in his words that was reassuring. At the very least she soon wouldn’t be the only drunk one, though he clearly had more self-control than she.

“Technically?” Solona let her head fall to the side and land on his shoulder. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, letting the smoky timbre of his voice lull her into deeper relaxation.

“Did you or did you not rid Ferelden of that treacherous Arl Howe?”

The humor in his voice as he spoke of his own father was unexpected enough to make her laugh, a genuine but quiet giggle. “Yes.”

He laughed too, his fingers beginning a slow, circular massage on her hip.

“Well like it or not, my lady, you are a hero. And a beautiful one at that, at least in my eyes,” he said. Solona’s head rolled toward his neck. _Fuck he smells good._

“And all that you’ve been through has clearly has taken its toll on you, but I don’t think there is any question that you are… special. And I at least, would like to know you better. Not Solona the hero, Solona the quiet girl from Kirkwall who grew up in the Circle and who can put away a whole roasted chicken in two minutes flat.”

“Okay, okay…” Solona stammered. Through the spot on her arm which rested against his chest came the quickening thump of his heartbeat, as comforting a sensation as she’d ever known. “But why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Perhaps not,” she acquiesced. “But I’m asking for one anyway. Humor me.”

“Okay then. Have you ever met someone and just immediately knew that they would… be important to you, somehow? Just a feeling that you can’t explain?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, that’s it for starters. And also I feel that you and I are the same in some ways. Not all ways, but that would be boring anyway, wouldn’t it? But maybe we could understand each other. Maybe we could help each other.”

Solona’s cheeks began to burn, and somewhere below that, the sting of tears once again. Shaking her head, Solona took a steadying breath, unsure how to respond. Everything he said sounded so true and right and… _bloody perfect._

“And I like being with you,” he continued, “Talking, like now, though it’s me mostly doing the talking at the moment. I wish you weren’t so down on yourself, but you seem to have your reasons. I feel like I can talk to you,” he paused, and again came a gentle laugh in her ear. “Obviously. Tell me to stop if I’m talking too much.”

Solona closed her eyes and absorbed the sound, the meaning of all the words. The tremendous comfort she seemed to be gaining from it all. It seemed more than she deserved. “Please don’t.”

“Well I hope… I hope that someday you might feel the same. That you could talk to me, if you needed to. Because you can, Solona. You can talk to me, anytime and about anything.”

“Okay.” Reasons she didn’t understand had her pulling away. Instinctively she reached for the whiskey, and then caught herself mid-motion and went for the water instead. Emptying the glass, she glanced out the corner of her eye at Nathaniel, who was leaning back, watching her calmly.

“Okay,” he echoed.

A heavy moment passed, eyes locked, while Solona tried to make sense of her instinct to pull back. It seemed she was constantly doing that. He’d continue to offer his company, his companionship, and she’d continue to rebuff him, even when that was the last thing she really wanted to do. And now, was it really even necessary?

“Okay,” she said again, trying to ignore the ache to reach for him, to run her fingertips up his chest and nuzzle into his neck. To taste his skin, his lips. He’d let her, there was no doubt about that. But then the talking would likely end.

“How do you do it?” The words escaped her before she could present them clearly.

“Do what?” He raised a brow, the blue of his eyes sparkling.

“You’ve lost more than I have, more loved ones, your home, the future you thought you’d have. And it’s not broken or crippled you, the way… the way it feels like it did me. How did you get to be so strong?”

“That is overstating things a bit,” he snorted, shaking his head. “I assure you I am no stronger than anyone else.”

“Bullshit, Nate. You see me, what a mess I am. I drink too much, I feel like I can hardly function some days. But you…” Solona sighed. “Tell me your secret.”

“There’s no secret. Most would have no interest in life advice from a Howe, Solona.”

Solona stared at him expectantly. After another heavy moment of silence, Solona propped her head up on her palm, settling in to wait. With a smirk, Nathaniel shook his head.

“I guess…. I just try to stay focused on the ‘here and now,’”

“The here and now?”

“That’s right,” he paused to drink down the last of his glass of whiskey, then slid the glass away and leaned forward on the table. Reaching tentatively toward him, Solona traced a fingertip along a seam of leather on his forearm. “I’m not saying there is anything wrong with reflection and contemplation and all that,” he continued. “But… there is so much about this world that we don’t know. That we can’t know. What happens after death. Is the Maker real, and if so, is everything the Chantry says true? What if I had done things differently…”

Solona froze, his words seeming to reach directly into her, plucking some inner chord with an eerie precision. Goosebumps rose up her back. Her gaze trained upon the slight fidgeting of his fingers, Solona was afraid to meet his eyes. Taking slow, even breaths, she said nothing.

“And I’m not saying I don’t think about those things — but so much of those questions will never be definitively answered. At least not unless you’re willing to indulge in a bit of self-delusion. And if that’s what you want, then so be it. But…” he paused again, his fingers falling still, and then reaching for hers, his pointer finger caressing gently over hers. Solona shuddered, fighting the call to scoot closer to him, to throw a leg over his lap and cover his mouth with her own. For a moment her eyes closed, the vision searing itself on the inside of her eyelids.

“Isn’t it a waste of energy to dwell upon things we can never know, or never change? Meanwhile the things we _can_ know, the things that we can actually affect and change and that are real, are right here, right now. You and me. This table. That glass. This room full of people. People who will actually be helped or harmed by our actions. Those in our past, however much we might love them, their time is done. Where they are now, we can’t know. What happened yesterday, we can’t change. Today matters more than yesterday. I’m just saying… I try to save my energy for the things that I can effect. I don’t always succeed, but I try. And that’s really all I can do, isn’t it?”

Solona snorted. A calm warmth spread under her skin as the words echoed in her mind. _The here and now._ A deep truth resonated there though it didn’t seem possible it could really be that simple. _Could it?_ Watching the slow caress of his finger over hers, a disorienting lightness overtook her, sending the room spinning. Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, the rumble of the full tavern room fell away. He was right, of course. She’d been so twisted up over all the things she didn’t know, questions that could never be answered, she’d been living for months in complete disregard of the present moment.

“Well if that’s not a secret of life, then I don’t know what is,” Solona whispered.  

  
  



	17. Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like an ass for not having said this already, but a huge thank you to my awesome beta, [etaeternum.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/etaeternum) And if you're not reading her [Mother of Griffons (King Domistair/Cousland with a side of Nathaniel/OC) series,](http://archiveofourown.org/series/542425) you should be! It's so fantastic!
> 
> This is a short chapter because the next one is likely to be extra long, but with a bit more snogging, so hopefully that offsets the length! 
> 
> Comments and kudos give me life. Thank you so much to everyone!

 

“Damn, Solona,” Nathaniel gasped. “He died in your arms?”

Nodding, Solona took a shaky breath. Talking about Alistair hadn’t been as difficult as it had been in the past, even despite the gut-punch of news she’d received only a short time earlier. She was certain she’d barely begun to scratch the surface on her feelings about that, though talking to Nathaniel seemed to be a good start. She wasn’t sure she’d ever given anyone the full story of Alistair’s death before. It was a difficult enough experience to relive in so many of her taint-fueled nightmares, and putting the memory into words always seemed a task of unbearable magnitude. Yet Nathaniel had opened something in her, and it only took a moment of his gentle urging before the story spilled out in its entirety. She wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten onto the topic in the first place.

“That explains so much,” he added.

“But, it’s still… I mean, it’s only one person. And you’ve lost your mother, your brother, your father…”

Nathaniel cocked his head, regarding her silently for a moment. “As did you. It’s almost worse the way you lost yours, isn’t it? My family had no choice in their deaths. But yours… they gave you up willingly to the Circle. And that was it? You never heard from them again?”

“Well… my mother wrote for a while. About a year. And then one day the letters stopped coming. The last one I received said she was expecting again. So it seems I was… replaced.” She sighed. “And this is why I see no point in contacting them. I mean, you could argue that they had no choice, what with the law and the Templars requiring they hand me over. But… how hard is it to write a letter every once in a while?”

Solona took a deep breath, avoiding the silvery spotlights of his eyes. Still the words continued to come, flooding out of her.

“I know it couldn’t have been easy for them. And maybe it made it easier to just… stop writing and get on with their lives. But, I couldn’t understand that at five years old! Abandoned and stuck in a tower with a bunch of strangers, most of whom looked at me like they expected me to burst into flames at any given moment? A few of the older mages were kind, but most of the adults there had no interest in coddling yet another confused, burdensome child.” Solona smiled weakly. “Though there was this one... Maggie. I remember she reminded me a little of mother. She was very mom-like. She taught me which Templars to avoid, and how to keep my head down in order to avoid becoming a target. She’d even sneak me her extra muffin after dinner sometimes. And then one day she was just… different. Cold. I didn’t know what a Tranquil was until the day I walked up to her to show her something I made in crafts, and she had this thing on her forehead. She just looked at me like she had no idea who I was. She did know, but she didn’t care anymore. She was just… vacant.”

Nathaniel exhaled audibly, his face softened with a gentle frown. Across the table he reached for her hand. His palm was warm and dry, and intensely comforting. Gazing down at the wispy strands of dark hairs that covered his knuckles, Solona felt a surge of affection for him. She squeezed at his hand, feeling along his fingers until she reached two hard patches of skin.

“You got your callouses back,” she observed quietly. He nodded; his eyes lowered to watch their joined hands. He turned her hand over in his and stroked his thumb over the lines on her palm.

“Anyway,” she began, but self-consciousness seized her. It was not at all like her to prattle on about herself for so long. “So that was it. No more parents. The Templars were assholes. Years passed and they were lonely and boring, but eventually Anders was transferred in, and he made things more interesting.”

Nathaniel’s eyes flicked up to her at the mention of Anders’ name, something deep transpiring within them.

“This is after you got a bit older, I assume. And you… you _liked_  him?” He asked cautiously. A pang of guilt stabbed deep in Solona’s belly. She shook away the memory of her and Anders’ night together. It hardly seemed to count, considering she’d spent most of that time in his bed thinking of Nathaniel.

“It was a crush. An obsession, sort of. He was funny and different and he _really_ messed with the Templars. All the things the rest of us always dreamed about doing — pranks, talking back, _hitting_ back…” Nathaniel’s face remained stoic, though the energy around him changed. Solona cleared her throat, wishing she hadn’t even mentioned Anders. “Well anyway, the rest of us talked a big game about all the things we wanted to do to the Templars. Anders actually did those things. And then Duncan came after my Harrowing and offered me a chance to get out of the Circle. So I took it. And then I met… Alistair.” Solona choked his name out, trying not to let it turn into a sob. She took a shaky breath, determined to stop rambling. “And he changed everything. I had no idea it was possible to love someone that much, and be loved the same in return.”

 

After having leaned away from Nathaniel so she could see his face as they spoke, Solona marveled at the contrast between him and her memory of her beloved. Alistair had seen hardship in his childhood, and had faced down monsters of every stripe at her side, but still always exuded an innocence and humor that had brought light to even the bleakest moments. Alistair _was_ light. His earnestness and unwavering love had been like living every moment under the warm rays of the sun. And after so many cold years in the Circle, she had basked in him, allowing herself to believe that such happiness would last forever. But then the sun had died and she’d been plunged into darkness, and not only had some of that darkness come into her, but she’d learned that a great well of it had actually been there all along.

_And what if Alistair were to show up right now, and see for himself exactly what I’ve become?_

The question was one she’d asked herself many times, but more startling than that was the question of what Solona herself might see in Alistair. How could someone who carried such darkness within her be a good match for someone who lived in life’s sunny shallows?

Of course she knew that question probably wasn’t giving Alistair enough credit. He’d been a breathing, evolving person just like anyone, who’d grown with his experiences, who had known pain and death the same as any other. Still, the man before her, a man who knew the same immense losses she did, who’d witnessed her courting death in the Deep Roads, unafraid of the dark places inside her because he had those places too, everything suddenly seemed different. Alistair had been the perfect man for the time in her life that they’d known each other, but she wasn’t in that place any more. It was a revelation as big as any other she’d experienced on this day.

 

Glancing toward the bar, she confirmed that the first rude man, the portly one with the droopy red eyes, had left. The fisherman had disappeared into the crowded tavern behind them, though his boisterous group could still be heard, amplifying the tavern’s volume considerably. The original excuse for her and Nathaniel’s pretense of couplehood was gone, though the desire to fling herself into his arms remained as strong as ever.

A heavy lump sat uncomfortably in Solona’s throat, one which threatened to release itself in a flood of tears. Squeezing at Nathaniel’s hand, Solona’s eye flew to the whiskey bottle. For a short time she’d begun to feel as though she’d regained some bit of equilibrium, but the aftermath of telling Nathaniel the story of Alistair’s death had awakened a great upheaval of forces inside her. It felt much larger than anything she could possibly deal with right there, in public and surrounded by a sea of strangers. Glancing warily at Nathaniel, she reached for her empty whiskey glass with her free hand.

“Just one more,” she said. Nathaniel’s hand squeezed at hers. Once her glass was filled and then quickly drained, the bottle’s topper replaced and her chest burning pleasantly with the liquor’s fire, Nathaniel’s grip on her began to pull. Her body obeyed easily, somehow both lightened by the sharing of her troubles, and yet seeming clunkier and more unwieldy than ever. Solona found herself slipping mindlessly into Nathaniel’s arms. A tender touch tickled down the back of her hair, before wrapping her in a solid, comforting hug. Solona exhaled what felt like a year’s worth emotional weight as she melted into the firm contours of his chest. Warmth spilled wetly down her cheeks, but the quiet rhythms of Nathaniel’s body overpowered her inner turmoil. Syncing her breaths with the deep, even rise and fall of his chest, Solona tuned into him and felt a numb peace come over her. His woodsy scent filled her nose, and the thumping bass of his steady heart resounded through her bones, the gentle waves of his breathing swelled against her. The powerful words he’d spoken not even an hour earlier came back to her. Of all the questions swirling around her head and making her chest ache, it was Nathaniel that was the most real. He was, in every way, _right here, right now._

 

Sharp voices rose up from behind, though Solona only registered them once Nathaniel straightened up and cast his eyes warily in their direction. Nathaniel’s body coiled in reaction to whatever was happening behind her, but Solona only finished turning in time to catch the shadow of a body moments before it stumbled into her, jarring her backward. A hasty apology was hissed in her direction, before the accidental attacker rushed out of view.

The seconds following the impact passed in slow motion. Dim figures jumped away from the center of the room, seeking space from the main source of noise. Nathaniel’s hand closed around Solona’s upper arm, pulling her roughly toward the wall. Wood scraped across floorboards and scrambling feet thumped through the room as if in a stampede. The unexpected outbreak of chaos dumped adrenaline in Solona’s blood, a rush of energy that connected habitually to the ocean of magic inside her. Sparks skittered up her arms while the knots in her stomach untangled in anticipation of a fight. But with Nathaniel backed up in front of her, the ruckus in the center of the tavern remained completely obscured from view. And then came a tense moment of silence.

“What the fuck, asshole!?” shouted an enraged voice. Chairs somewhere within the room screeched again and clattered to the floor. Solona clutched the arm Nathaniel held protectively along her side, and breathed through the seconds it took her disoriented mind to process the situation. Errant sparks bled from Solona’s fingertips, glancing off Nathaniel’s leathers and shooting light into the shadowy recesses between their bodies. Somewhere to the left a head turned sharply in her direction, attracted by the telltale emitting of magical light. At least this time the liquor worked to dull her reflexes, preventing a full-on panic such as she’d had in the tavern outside the Wending Wood. Nathaniel’s presence also seemed to issue a calming effect of its own. Raising herself up on tiptoes she peered over Nathaniel’s shoulder, steadying herself with a palm at his waist. He turned his face toward her, and then stepped slightly to the side to afford her a better view.

"And what exactly are you protecting me from this time?” Solona asked.

Nathaniel laughed. “I’m not protecting you, my lady. I’m protecting _them.”_ He nodded toward the churning crowd while eyeing her hand on his arm, still buzzing with its connection to the Fade. “No need to be a hero _right now,_ is there? Now that we are finally getting to know each other?”

Solona snorted, recognizing how accurately he’d anticipated her reaction. He lowered his arm as he watched this realization dawning on her, and she eased out from behind him to search the row of murmuring people blocking the view. One woman in a green shift clutched her companion’s arm, dragging him toward the door. As they picked their way through the crowd the bodies moved, allowing a glimpse of the source of the tension. Unsurprisingly, the drunk crowd of youths stood at the center, chief among them the smug looking fisherman.

“Ten sovereigns says our fishy friend mouthed off to the lady in the blue dress,” whispered Nathaniel.

The woman in the blue dress was difficult to spot, but Solona eventually found her, fuming and red-cheeked behind three barrel chested men who were facing down the fisherman. Smug smirk in place, and arms crossed over his chest, the fisherman was attempting to look unconcerned but it was hardly convincing.

“Let’s see if his sea legs help him now.” Nathaniel continued.

Solona sighed heavily. “But, we should step in, shouldn’t we?”

“Why!?” Nathaniel scoffed.

“Well… it’s what I normally end up having to do anyway before someone innocent gets hurt…”

“Solona, that man is not innocent. There is no injustice here. In fact it appears that blighter might be about to get exactly what he deserves.”

Body still trembling with adrenaline, Solona gave a shrug and tried to force herself to relax. The adrenaline had a lightening effect, wiping away the heavy weight of all the talk about Alistair. She was grateful for the new development of tavern brawl and the distraction that it provided, but there was no question the talk with Nathaniel was one she needed. Still, she could always count on battle to dampen the voices in her head that drove her to precipice of madness and despair, though it seemed the momentary promise of battle was dying. It was true that Amaranthine already had its own law enforcement, and by the way Mick was glancing toward the tavern door, she expected he’d already sent out for some guards.

“Well if they start breaking things…” she said hopefully.

Nathaniel turned around to face her, his lip curled and eyes glinting suggestively.

“What?” she asked as her hands fell away from him. He hovered in front of her, just inches away while she grew increasingly more breathless.

“It _would_ be quite satisfying to see you pummel him.” His mischievous smirk was incendiary, and stunning to behold.

A surge of power streamed down her arms at the thought, clearing out the last of the malaise that had infected her during their talk. Flickering light around her fingers caught her eye as a second wave of sparks drifted from her fingertips to the floor. Her body seemed barely able to contain the multitude of new desires coursing through her. The desire to release the build up of magical energy, the desire to grab Nathaniel and plaster herself against him, to rip away the leathers and bindings blocking her from his flesh. Solona choked down a groan and rolled her shoulders, trying to keep herself under control.

“Actually, you’re right. I should just let the guards handle it. I might end up damaging the place worse than those men will.” Every second Nathaniel stood before her, so close, her body ached for more of his touch. Squeezing her eyes shut, Solona searched within herself for her connection to the Fade, where mana bled into her system in anticipation of release. With tremendous effort, she forced the channel closed, cutting off the flow of magical energy.

When it was done, she kept her eyes closed for a long moment, soaking in the sensation of Nathaniel’s closeness. Even without touching him it seemed the space around her was swelling and contracting, breathing with the rhythm of his energy. She caught a whiff of his distinct scent again, clean, light and earthy, calling up visions of forests and campfires, of the soothing whisper of wind through the treetops. An image of him running silently over rocks and leaves, bow drawn and eyes sharp played in her mind. She saw a quiet, humble man who somehow embodied both simplicity and depth, who incited within her a return to all that was natural and real, things she could touch and taste.

The fight behind them had begun by the time she opened her eyes. Tables overturning, punches being thrown, flagons clattering to the floor; the sound of it all was unmistakable and yet growing more distant with each passing second. Startled by the intensity in Nathaniel’s eyes as he gazed down at her, the air between them grew heavier.

_Kiss me._

The thought rocked through her, but Nathaniel made no advance. His eyes grew dark, gaping down at her with what appeared to be desire. Remembering that she’d already declined him once, Solona sighed with the realization that the move would have to be hers.

Palm sliding around his waist, Solona faced her body to his, reveling in how perfectly tall he was, how his chest and shoulders sat at just the right height for her to drop her forehead down to rest upon them. An equally simple move would have his mouth within range, requiring no reaching or exertion, just the most ideal placement to make kissing him effortless. Despite the fighting going on just feet away, only Nathaniel registered in her awareness, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the alluring bulk of his shoulders, the sheer electric _nearness_ of him. She took a step closer and Nathaniel’s head bowed low, his hair breezing softly against her cheek. Solona drank in a breath of him, his flesh radiating his sweet, distinctive musk, heat blazing from his eyes and his chest. A shaky hunger in her belly snaked out to infect her limbs; between her legs raged an insistent ache.

 

She didn’t even realize she was about to do it until it was done: that fragrant skin of his neck, pulsing with life and heat, beckoned her. She wanted his mouth, but in her amorous delirium somehow landed upon the sinewy grace of his neck. Opening her mouth enough to employ the tip of her tongue, she took in the light tang of salt and was rewarded with the vibration of his voice buzzing its sensual sound against her lips. Tentatively her hand raised to scrape against his collarbone, searching its way up to his jaw, the soft caress of his hair a veil over her fingers. Nathaniel’s arm reached around her with greater confidence, his hand dragging down her back, tugging on her waist. His head turned toward her the moment her palm found his cheek. Ending her kiss to his neck, she pulled her face away in time to feel him brush back the hair at her temple, his fingers lingering as it drew lower, landing with a gentle caress on her collarbone. Her body pulsing with desire, she clenched her fingers into his back, urging him closer. This wasn’t pretend anymore, she knew with certainty. This was real. This was _it._ And it couldn’t seem to come soon enough.

“Solona.” His voice a throaty whisper, infused with longing. She positioned her face before him, angling for his mouth.

In a quick move, he seized her, his mouth finding hers with a gentle but firm precision. Solona grasped him back, wanting to offer the reassurance she’d denied him under the bridge. Some small voice in the back of her mind reminded her she’d yet to apologize for that, despite all their time spent talking. But if she’d still failed to tell him that his feelings were returned, she resolved to finally, unequivocally _show_ him. Fingers raking down his back, Solona pressed herself into him with a new fervor. Her mouth opened, her tongue sliding against his. His lips, so soft and warm, moved skillfully against hers as she drank in the luscious heat of his mouth. One hand tangled in the silky ropes of his hair, the other locked around his waist, holding him desperately against her. A whimper escaped her throat as the experience of him saturated her senses, as delicious and satisfying as the wildest of her imaginings. Everything about his body, his kiss, just felt _right._

It was almost more than she could process, that the man she’d tried for so long not to think about was now in her arms. All those visions of him in the dark had invaded her thoughts at the oddest moments, taunting her. Trying to get closer still, her fingers searched over him, seeking a place to slip under and connect directly with his skin. But his leathers remained a labyrinth of belts and buckles, pieces that fit into each other differently than any of hers. Every few seconds the reality of their surroundings broke through the reverie, reminding her that they were surrounded with people. The yelps and crashes of the fight droned on, while bystanders slipped around them in their attempt to reach the door. Voices in the background cut sharply through the haze, followed by the scuffling of a continuedstruggle. But Nathaniel had been right that it wasn’t Solona’s business, and the sounds of violence behind her were reduced to an unwelcome distraction.

With a nip to his lower lip, Solona ended the kiss and was back upon the skin of his neck again. She closed her eyes and brought the taste of him into her, the clean but light bite of salt, the silky flexing of satiny flesh. His body tensed against the length of her, muscles rolling in tightening waves, thigh pressing against her hip; his arms slid down her back, pausing to squeeze and knead into her. Their bodies coiled into each other in a sensual a dance, and she let her head fall back in surrender, welcoming him, inhaling him.

_I could love you. I might already._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	18. Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this story, travel time between Amaranthine and Vigil's Keep is only a couple hours, not the "half a week" projected by some of the tumblr guides I've seen. They're going to go back and forth between the two places a lot and trying to factor a week of travel time in every time is just a pain. 
> 
> Yay to end of spring semester! Thanks again to everyone sticking with me!

_Soft._ Soft hair, soft skin, soft curves under his palms. Nathaniel savored the word, tumbling it around in his mind as her lips, luscious and pillowy, moved with urgency against his. Somewhere behind them came noise, muffled and inconsequential. Each time she pressed harder against him his breath drained from his lungs, leaving him gasping, struggling like a drowning man to bring in some of her life-saving force. _Soft Solona._

It had been satisfying enough just to sit and talk, to know he’d been _heard_. Those moments her eyes went sharp with her undivided attention would be remembered for a long time to come. It had almost made him dizzy to see her focused so intently on him, to finally feel her entirely _there,_ and not mentally a thousand miles away. Her presence, confirmed again and again by his searching hands, writhed with hunger. He could feel it in the way she clawed him toward her, in the way her kiss burned with desperation. If they stayed in this place much longer he might find himself stripped of his leathers, making love to her against the tavern wall while surrounded by people.

His hand cupped her cheek. _So bloody soft._ Trying to slow her, he traced the line of her jaw with his thumb and steadied her head, preparing to come up for air. Nothing in all of Thedas sounded better than losing himself in her, but _not here._ Against his urging, her mouth opened, her breath hot as she searched to reconnect to his. He held out for a moment, thinking of other places they could go, places that required they stop and start walking. To darkened hallways and beyond locked doors. And then came the stab of memory - of twice, at least, that she’d already pushed him away. It had seemed that this moment might not come, and here it is, and if he stopped to usher them to greater privacy maybe she’d reconsider. Maybe she’d slip out of the moment and be gone again. Her eyes flashed black as she lunged back to his mouth and he relented immediately, his tongue diving back against hers. His other hand resting upon the sloping firmness of her hip. Her body thrummed.

A niggling little voice buzzed in the back of his head. Were he an onlooker there in the tavern, he’d be rolling his eyes with irritation. Mentally he conjured up an obscene gesture to any who might be doing the same while looking at him and Solona. Sure, the location was unconventional for a first kiss, but no one could possibly understand how long they had waited for this moment. The awareness of those around him didn’t last, fizzling away under the sensory onslaught of Solona’s attention. She smelled of violets and woodsmoke, the softness of her body a silky patina over muscle and strength. His inner voice continued on quietly, firing off questions he could ask her outright if he wasn’t so afraid of killing the moment. _Is this still for show? Are you pretending?_

The thought sent a lurch through his gut. But those two lecherous men were gone, escaped or otherwise indisposed. _Who could she be putting on a show for now?_

Nathaniel tightened his arms around her, soaking himself in the sensation of her against him. Here his own mind wandered off, instead of remaining firmly in that _Here and Now_ that he believed in so much. And, he remembered, they still had to wait to rendezvous with Anders and Velanna, who…

The thought drifted away from him. It was impossible to tell the time in the dimness of the Tavern, and they’d already been there talking for… well, however long it had been. It had been one of those conversations that felt like it took place over maybe twenty minutes, but for all he knew it could have been hours. Anders could walk through the door any moment, or not until much later.

An image floated behind his eyes of Anders arriving and seeing that Solona had chosen _him,_ Nathaniel Howe, despite the stain that had become the Howe family name. Solona, for as much as she had been drinking, had to still be somewhat aware that she was publicly cavorting with a _Howe._  The Hero and the son of what was, apparently, one of Ferelden’s most recent and infamous villains, now publicly paired. How might this affect the Wardens? They were already struggling against popular opinion and the disapproval of the local nobles. But again came the fantasy of Anders, his face falling as he viewed Solona and Nathaniel holding each other, kissing with months of pent up passion. Whatever remained of Nathaniel’s impulse to move to a less conspicuous place fell away. Anders should arrive, soon hopefully, and then he could see for himself.

Unless she really was pretending. But it certainly didn’t feel pretend. Nathaniel heard himself groaning as he smashed his mouth into hers with a renewed fervor, afraid for a split second that it might have been too hard. Solona’s breathless response reassured him that the force was welcome. A low whimper rumbled in her chest. Her grip bit into the back of his neck, nails scoring the flesh below his hairline. Her tongue, hot and silky, snaked around his before her teeth chewed for a moment on his bottom lip. His body grew into an animal that was quickly moving beyond his control, arcing against hers, seeking complete immersion. Heat rose up his core, inflaming his cheeks and blooming out from the heaviness between his legs. The sting left by her nails spoke a simple truth. _You don’t hold someone that hard if it’s just for show._   

An authoritative voice boomed over the din of the tavern. “If your business here is through, then you need to move out.”

Footsteps intensified in response, shuffling and stamping, voices in every register slurring their dissent. Armor jangled as Amaranthine guards made their way toward the location of the fight.

The next moments passed in a blur for Nathaniel. Solona’s hands on his face as their lips disentangled, pausing for a second to rest her nose against his. The dark orbs of her eyes scanning the room before landing back on his face. With flushed cheeks, she gazed at Nathaniel and something remarkable happened: she smiled. A real smile, not one of those half-smiles or snorts that she gave occasionally, and which never extended to her eyes. The light that seemed to shine from her face disoriented Nathaniel and he heard himself clear his throat as he widened his stance to prevent himself from swaying. The smile he returned was entirely involuntary, as though the beauty before him was plucking the strings of his muscles and making them dance. He cleared his throat again and picked up her hand. She laced her fingers through his, gripping without hesitation.

Step by step the main room of the tavern receded. The front door blared a blinding light each time it swung open to release a new stream of departing patrons. Mick’s voice carried over the thumping of footsteps, responding to a guard’s question about the number of people filing past. “…leaving the farmlands in droves to escape the darkspawn… Amaranthine’s running out of places to put them all…”

“So, who’s tending the fields?”

Mick laughed. “Who indeed.”

Stealing glances at Solona as they descended the steps toward the front door, Nathaniel felt a swell of elation in his chest. Despite all that there was in Amaranthine to worry about, he wanted to laugh, loudly and unabashedly, for what felt like the first time in months. First his sister, and now _this_. It was more than he’d dared to hope for. Solona’s eyes flicked up to meet his, her cheeks glowing a radiant pink. The brilliance of her smile lingered like sunspots over his vision as they navigated down the stairs. They emerged into the golden sunlight of late afternoon and stepped off to the side of the entrance. She squeezed his hand as they stood, casting sheepish glances at each other while waiting for the crowd to disperse.

Solona moved closer, leaning her shoulder against his arm. Instinctively he turned toward her. Releasing her hand, he curled his arm around her back. A flicker of that smile illuminated her eyes for a moment, sending Nathaniel’s stomach crashing pleasantly downward. _This is it,_ whispered a certainty somewhere in his chest _. This is the real deal._ Letting out a lungful of air, Nathaniel relaxed into a comfortable stance against her, though his heart still thundered under his breastbone. The only communication between them came in the form of shy smiles and massaging, caressing fingers. Brushing firmly up her side, Nathaniel measured the slope of her waist with his palms, the jut of her hip bones, the small notches of vertebrae up her back. She released a shudder that rattled through him, drawing his lip into another involuntary curl. Every passing moment felt dreamlike, and electric in its intensity.

He stood memorizing the detail of her face, transformed as it was by a genuine smile, though the whites of her eyes still bore the pink stain of drunkenness. A faint purple blush darkened her heavy lids and her lips shone an inflamed red from the force of their kissing. He could hardly help but reach up to lightly stroke the soft porcelain of her cheek. She gazed up at him quietly, but in the shadows of her eyes he saw that flickering sadness, ever-present and as bottomless at the Void itself. He sighed. Of course this wasn’t going to be easy;  she still clearly had a lot to work through. But they’d taken a couple first steps. And nothing that was worth it was ever easy.

In the corner of his vision a figure grew large with closeness, the blur of the person eventually resolving itself into clarity.

“So, who brought the party outside?” Anders asked as he approached, turning to survey the milling bodies. Old men ambled off into the streets, slowed by the alcohol in their veins, but many of the younger patrons stayed close, grouping into circles to discuss the next destination. Some of them seemed to be hoping they’d just be invited back into the tavern once the guards were finished. Nathaniel pressed down a grin as he gripped Solona tighter. Her body responded instantly to his touch, stealing the entirety of his focus for a fleeting second.

“A fight,” Solona answered. “The guards are in there now.”

Anders closed the last of the distance between them, gazing back and forth at Nathaniel and Solona with changing expressions. Nathaniel snorted, taking in the alternating distaste and amusement playing over the mage’s face. Mostly Anders seemed unsurprised, and like he was trying to look like he didn’t care. Anders’ eyes locked onto Solona and grew dark. She looked down at her feet, and then up again, her chin jutting forward with what almost seemed like defiance. Nathaniel’s stare remained transfixed on Anders, waiting for the moment that the reality of the situation sank in.

_It’s not like you ever really cared for her anyway._

Nathaniel pressed down a grin, trying not to let his satisfaction show too brightly. The quiet moment stretched longer and longer. Finally, Anders pulled out a flask and emptied it, his brow arching as the serious expression melted away.

“And our spritely little Hero didn’t jump in?” Anders smirked. “That’s very unlike the Commander that I know. We’ve all seen how much she likes a good battle.”

Nathaniel looked to Solona, assuming she’d like to respond for herself.

“It wasn’t our business,” she said with conviction.

“Is that right?” Anders’ gaze hardened as it flicked up Nathaniel. Disheveled and swaying on his feet, it seemed that flask wasn’t his first. _Andraste’s tits, you’re all a bunch of alcoholics._

A blonde head in the distance caught Nathaniel’s eye. Velanna, standing away from the crowd of people as though getting too close might infect her with some virus, glared impatiently as she leaned against a building wall, arms crossed over her chest. Nathaniel wondered idly if she had a drinking problem too. Adding Oghren into the mix and it was a shock Ferelden wasn’t running short on whiskey just like it seemed to be everything else. Anders leaned in, his eyes trained on Solona. Nathaniel took a step away, pulling Solona with him. Anders gave no notice.

“So.” Anders nodded at the two of them, his eyes flicking pointedly to Solona, “The three of us, then? I can think of a few things we can try--”

Nathaniel’s laugh came out as more of a cough.

“What did you just say, mage?” he asked, incredulous. Anders swung to face Nathaniel, his eyes sliding lasciviously down his body. Nathaniel recoiled.

“The three of us,” Anders said again. “You, me and our Commander…”

The proposition was absolutely absurd, and stated with such infuriating assumption. A high-pitched whir fired up in Nathaniel’s ears. He loosed another bitter laugh and shook his head.

“You’re confusing fantasy for reality again, mage.”

Anders tilted his head. “You like reminding me that I’m a mage? You think I might have forgotten?”

Anders snapped a small orange flame into existence and then gawked at it with feigned surprise. A sulfurous aroma wafted through the air.

“Oh, you’re right!” Anders exclaimed. His mock surprise was masterfully acted, his eyes glinting with laughter. “Look at that!”

Nathaniel’s smirk slipped into a snarl. Sharpness bit into his side as Solona’s grip tightened. But Anders only grinned wider while taking a step closer to Solona, arm moving to reach casually toward her.

“And I’m not confusing anything am I, Sol? We already talked about this, in fact. Just the other day.” Anders moved to sling his arm around Solona’s shoulders.

Nathaniel’s hand shot out, impacting against Anders’ chest and jarring him back. The mage’s loose body seemed to absorb the blow. He stumbled back a few steps and then righted himself, his smirk only spreading. Anders’ chest had been unexpectedly solid.

“Anders, please don’t—” Solona tried to step between them.

“Oh, that’s how you like it too, little Nate? I can see I am in for a _very fun_ night…”

Fury surged through Nathaniel’s veins. Distantly he felt Solona’s hands pushing on him, trying to hold him back. Her head bobbed before him as she tried to make herself a barrier, her hair wafting a sweet floral scent that seemed utterly out of place amidst the tension. Visions of punching Anders right in his smug face filled Nathaniel’s head, and not for the first time. Another deep breath, Nathaniel cocked a brow and gritted his teeth. Part of him loathed the idea of losing himself to a petty fit of machismo in front of Solona. Another part wanted to make it quite clear to Anders that he was not going to be cowed by arrogant bullshit.

“Just what the fuck are you talking about, Anders?” Nathaniel asked, though in truth, he didn’t care to hear the answer.

“I don’t know if she’s told you, little Nate, but I actually _like_ it rough…” Anders whispered conspiratorially, his eyes traveling up and down Nathaniel’s body again. It seemed the tenser Nathaniel appeared, the more excited Anders got. Nathaniel balled his hands into fists and took another deep, steadying breath.

“And _she’s_ very good at being rough.”

“Anders, shut your mouth,” Solona demanded. The air rippled almost imperceptibly, bringing with it the ionic tang of electricity. This time Nathaniel had little desire to hold Solona back, even if a burst of temper remained unwise. A quick scan of the street revealed deepening shadows as the sun sank behind the Chantry. What few people remained in front of the tavern were so absorbed in their own conversations that they hardly noticed Anders. Nathaniel’s heart pounded, but now from a slow burning rage. Weeks and weeks of enduring Anders’ smartass comments had slowly chipped through his patience, and now he found himself _wanting_ Solona to unleash, to put the arrogant man in his place.

“…though I do wonder just how _little_ he actually is. Have you gotten your hands on it yet, Sol? Or any of your other parts?”

“You vulgar little prick,” Nathaniel spat. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

“Oh _I’m_ not so little.” Anders laughed. “She can confirm that too.”

Slowly, the fact of what Anders was saying began to register. Solona’s face remained turned away, though Nathaniel could feel the magical energy building in the air.

“Just shut _up_ , Anders,” Solona growled.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you...” Anders continued, addressing Solona but watching Nathaniel with a mischievous glare, “why you were all wet the other night when you came to my room. You must have just come in from the rain, huh?”

Nathaniel’s stomach dropped, the realization that Anders must not have been lying spreading like acid up into his throat. Of course Solona had always been free to do what she wanted, but was that why she’d run away from Nathaniel under the bridge? Had she already made her choice? She’d left him there, alone, so she could run to _Anders?_ Nathaniel stepped numbly away from Solona’s touch. A quick glance toward her saw her standing limp, seemingly frozen as she watched the two. Such inaction in the face of conflict was so unlike her that it could only be a confirmation. If Anders was lying, wouldn’t she say so? She would deny it, laugh it off. _Anything._ As the moment stretched on it became clear that the magical hum in the air wasn’t coming from her. If anything she seemed switched off, like she’d already mentally escaped and left behind an empty, resigned husk. He watched her with heart in his throat, waiting, mentally urging her to speak.

_Say something! Tell me he’s lying!_

“Nate,” she croaked, looking up as though suddenly realizing what was happening.

Anders rocked on his heels and continued, “Nothing like a brisk rainstorm to get the blood flowing, is there? Yours certainly was, Sol. Damn I can’t wait to do that again. We can fit Nathaniel in somewhere.”

The laughter in Anders’ voice was the last straw. _The asshole is enjoying this._ Nathaniel’s body surged toward Anders, propelled by a flood of adrenaline and a need to shut the mage up. In a blink Anders leapt back, his hand gripping the base of his staff, rearing to pull it free from its latch on his back. The hairs on Nathaniel’s body rose up on end as the air charged around him.

The next moment happened in a flash. Anders’ staff swung forward, a shimmer of magic traveling up to the staffhead, which pulsed with a palpable hum. A split-second decision had Nathaniel’s hand not at the bow on his back, but in the pouch at his belt, and then casting toward Anders, consuming him in a powdery grey cloud. Nathaniel parried backward to dodge the staff, which clattered to the ground as the magic dissipated. The cloud fell away quickly revealing Anders, bent over, with palms over his eyes. Then he began to scream.

The streets erupted in noise. The remaining crowd, once scattered and absorbed in conversation, now looked on with alarm, their voices rising to be heard over Anders’ wail. The kneeling mage clawed at his eyelids, an impression of a light blue orb appearing around him repeatedly as he attempted to heal himself. A moment of calm followed each magical _pop_ of the healing spell, but quickly Anders was whimpering again as the powder, stuck under his eyelids, resumed chafing and stinging. Solona stepped toward Anders and then stopped, pivoting toward Nathaniel.

Nathaniel’s limbs may as well have turned to stone. He felt cold as he stared down at her. Her dark eyes gaped with some unspoken plea. He couldn’t help but eye the luscious curve of her lip, the slight tremble in her chin. His chest twisted painfully.

“He’s not lying,” Nathaniel stated.

Solona shook her head and took a step toward him, her eyes flitting repeatedly down to the still groaning Anders. Shadows of movement filled Nathaniel’s peripheral vision as the crowd around them grew larger. Soon the scene they’d created would draw more guards, but he didn’t care. And the only thing that would truly work for Anders was a thorough eye-washing. Someone, at some point, would have to pull him up and take him to a basin. The thought of helping Solona carry Anders brought the sting of bile to the back of his mouth. And then, a walk together back to the Keep, where Anders would certainly continue to run his mouth. Where he’d have to watch Solona and know…

An impulse to slip into the crowd and disappear was rising. To get away from Solona, from the reality that he’d been fooling himself for so long. That again and again he’d let himself hope for something…. And she’d already chosen Anders in secret. Nathaniel gulped at the air and nodded to himself. His suspicions, — _his fears_ \-- it seemed, had been correct. The kissing, the urgency that he’d assumed was real, genuine passion, was all for show. All to discourage a couple of creeps in a bar. Nathaniel dropped his eyes away, needing to ease the pain of looking at her. A confusion of accusations clouded his brain. That she’d been _toying_ with him, that she must have known he’d be affected.

And still she said nothing, the most infuriating part of it all. Solona’s attention, drawn repeatedly by Anders’ agonized struggling, wavered from Nathaniel to Anders and back again. She took several steps toward Anders and growled.

“Just bloody heal it!”

Anders’ voice was satisfyingly distressed. “I’m trying!” Solona paced, her cheeks ashen, eyes dulled. Occasionally she blinked up at Nathaniel, and finally he caught her eye and held it.

“I’m sorry,” she pleaded. Nathaniel jumped back as she strode to him, seemingly regaining a bit of her senses. “Nate, please, I’m sorry.”

A new wail from Anders snagged her attention again. She stomped impatiently as she looked back and forth between the two men. Her limbs shook with frustration as she leaned over Anders for a moment, her hands starting and then abandoning an attempt to help, an attempt which would clearly be useless anyway.  Then she stood and faced Nathaniel. Her face was a picture of dejection. So unlike the smile she gave him before Anders came along, and the shy little grins. She’d even blushed for fuck’s sake. And none of it was real.

The words left Nathaniel before he could stop them, tinged with a sharp derision. “You are a fantastic actress.”

He thought he saw a shine of tears in her eyes as he turned away. The need to get out, get away was overwhelming. People bumped him as they tried to see why the man on the ground was screaming. Drunkards slurred oblivious questions to each other. His feet moved on their own, carrying him between faceless onlookers.

“Where are you going!?” Solona called behind him.

“Home,” he responded numbly.

***************

 _Home._ It wasn’t really that anymore. Or certainly not in the way he remembered it. Nathaniel kicked at the rocks littering the road out of Amaranthine. Dry leaves rustled as the rocks shot through the brush and landed with a thud, or sometimes a splash. A breeze swayed the trees overhead, cutting dark spikes out of the golden sky, but the quiet was a welcome contrast to the street in front of the Tavern. His stomach felt as though he’d swallowed a pound of lead. Each footstep landed heavily, slamming into the half-dried mud. Flashes of Solona kissing him played before his eyes, which only angered him further. He wanted to put it out of his mind, but the thoughts came anyway, along with doubts about what Anders might have meant, and rebuttals to his own assumptions. _Was he really surprised that she’d slept with Anders? Would it matter if it hadn’t happened the night she’d left him in the rain?_

No, it wouldn’t have mattered. If she’d chosen Nathaniel, then whatever happened before with Anders would be left in the past.

And again, he saw her smile. Something fluttered in his chest at even the thought. However many months it had been since that day she released him from the dungeons, living and traveling together day in and day out, and he’d never seen her smile like that. Nothing even _remotely_ like that. And she’d done so for him.

_Does she smile like that for Anders?_

If so, Nathaniel had never seen it. Who knew why she might have done the things that she’d done? After all she’d shared with him in the tavern, about the loss of her lover Alistair, it was clear that she wasn’t coping well with life in general.

His steps slowed. Should he have waited, and tried to talk more to her? He turned and looked at the dull brown outer wall of Amaranthine. Tiny figures moved around the outside of the gate, guards and merchants, peasants and farmers. His heart thudded in his ears as he searched the figures for one that might be a petite, dark haired woman. Allowing himself a moment to imagine she might run after him, he scripted what he might say. What would he want _her_ to say?

_It was real. I wasn’t pretending. Don’t listen to Anders. I don’t want him, I want you._

But she’d already had that chance. And apparently, she thought Anders was the better man.

Nathaniel swallowed down the lump in his throat and turned to continue walking. It would be full dark before he even reached the Keep. For a moment he considered the possibility of not returning to the Keep at all. He could find a spot to camp somewhere, maybe stay for a few days and get his head on straight. With a sigh, he wished he had one of those medallions that Solona had shown him in the tavern, the ones that hid the taint. That would help keep him safe in the dark. From darkspawn anyway, though those certainly weren’t the only threats in the forest. Nathaniel’s steps quickened, bringing him around a bend in the trees. The last visual trace of Amaranthine disappeared, leaving him alone with the wind and the trees. He shook his head as he imagined them back in Amaranthine. Solona wiping Anders’ face, comforting him. Probably yelling at him too. At least for bullshit way that he outed them. _What a dick._

That she might not stay with him after that stunt provided a small bit of solace. Hopefully she dumped him in some humiliating, spectacular fashion. If she didn’t… well then, she wasn’t the woman Nathaniel assumed she was in the first place.

Somewhere far behind came a niggling sensation. An awareness of the taint. A solitary presence, moving quickly along the road out of Amaranthine. Nathaniel’s heart skipped. _Could it be her? Who else might it be?_

He slowed his pace, turning around to eye the spot where the road disappeared behind the bend. The presence still had a lot of distance to cover, but it was coming, for sure. Nathaniel took a deep breath and considered again what he might say.

No, he wasn’t going to say anything. _She_ could be the one to do the talking.

He continued along, but slowly, mentally tracking her approach. She could easily catch up with him at her pace, but there wasn’t really time to dawdle. If he was going to camp, then he’d need to decide before the sun got too low. If he was going to continue on home, then he needed to move as quickly as possible. And had she just left the others behind? What were they going to do? Walk back in the dark? So far they’d gone to great lengths to avoid traveling in the dark, and already the last stretch of the journey to the Keep was destined to be by starlight. Either Anders and Velanna had shown up late to the rendezvous at the tavern, or that fight had lasted longer than he’d realized.

Finally, the figure was close, and Nathaniel stopped, eying the slim stretch of road beside the bend again. His heart began to race as she drew closer with every step. He took a deep breath and tried to put aside Anders’ words echoing in his head. Whatever it was she had to say, he would listen.

But it wasn’t Solona. It was Velanna that emerged into view, her wispy frame practically sprinting, her face screwed into her usual frown. Nathaniel turned around and continued walking, unsure why she was following him. Of course, he couldn’t blame her for not wanting to stay behind with Anders and Solona. She’d probably just glare at Nathaniel as per usual, at least until the sun went down and he couldn’t see her face anymore. But at least Velanna was never dishonest about her feelings for anyone; she made them perfectly clear whether you wanted to know or not.

He raised a brow as she sauntered up beside him.

“Solona sent me to be your backup,” Velanna explained. “In case you run into trouble on the way back.”

“Are they not coming?”

Velanna shrugged. “They’re still trying to get that shit out of Anders’ eyes.”

 


	19. Nineteen

Anders had only a second of peace once the powder sting finally released its claws on his eyes, before a sharp blast of force to smashed into his cheek. Blurry shapes spun in his vision, a jumble of sensory input that his brain couldn’t rectify. Landing on his back with a jarring thud, Anders head bounced off the wood floor. He lay still while his pulse blared in his ears, his breath hitched in his throat. The fierce stomping of Solona’s footsteps shook the floorboards. He blinked up at the ceiling, fingertips rising to the throbbing goose egg forming on his cheekbone. He’d expected that eventually she’d hit him with a spell or something, but apparently, she’d chosen her fist instead. Anders groaned and gulped at the room’s stale air, mind scrambling to find his bearings. 

“Sol—”

_“SHUT UP!”_

Anders had known he was pressing his luck in front of the tavern, but he just hadn’t been able to stop himself talking. By the way she and Nathaniel had been standing there together, holding hands and radiating intimacy, there was no question that whatever fling he’d enjoyed with Solona was over. The souring in his gut that came in response to that realization was painfully familiar, and completely unwelcome. It was the first time in a long time that he’d actually looked forward to having the same person in his bed again, and then again after that. He hadn’t known just how much he was looking forward to it until he’d caught that glimpse of them.

It wasn’t a surprise, really. How many times had the men and women he’d been genuinely interested in been stolen by someone who knew how to conduct a normal relationship? Maybe if he’d been more obvious about his struggle with what to do and how to act, or if he’d shared how he felt about her. How he thought he felt. Or how he thought he could eventually feel… But holding back _those_ sorts of things was a habit so deeply ingrained, he did it without even realizing it.

And Nathaniel, standing there watching Anders approach form the street… if that bastard hadn’t looked so bloody satisfied about it all… who knows how differently it could have gone. But before Anders knew it the venom poisoning his gut had spread up to his mouth, and was spewing forth in words that aimed -- and succeeded -- in wiping that damned smile off Nathaniel’s face.

Anders tucked his knees up toward his belly and rolled onto his side, fully expecting Solona’s boot against his ribs at any moment. His body was braced for impact, his stomach clenching in anticipation. But the seconds slipped by and nothing came. Wiping his eyes again, he blinked hard and fast to clear away the blur. Slowly the lines of the wood floor became visible, the glow of the candle in the dim room flaring and dimming as Solona paced beside it.

His thoughts raced wildly. She was controlling her magic so far, but were she to continue to attack, he’d have no choice but to fight back. And then what? Well, one doesn’t just attack the Hero of Ferelden, even in self-defense, without incurring more trouble afterward. Trouble from the other Wardens, from those all over the land who owed her their lives. So he’d defend himself, but then he’d have to flee. So much for being a Grey Warden.

The reverberations of her boots vibrated through the floorboards and into his skull. With each step he could feel the force of her anger. It was decidedly less sexy than what she’d displayed in his bedroom, its power and force now carrying an alarmingly real threat. 

“FUCK!” Solona’s footsteps stomped toward the door. The whole room shuddered as the door slammed shut behind her.

Anders took a breath and pushed himself upright. Her fist had caught the edge of his eye, and he could feel it already starting to swell. _Perfect. Just after getting that powder shit out._ Calling up a glow of healing, he waved his hand over his cheek, though for a second he considered letting it hurt for a little while. Had he not just endured what felt like hours of chemical burn in his eyes, he would have let it. He deserved it. 

Finally, the room’s furnishings resolved themselves into familiar shapes, and Anders realized he had no idea where within the tavern he was. The sloped ceilings suggested they were on the top floor, and the items strewn about the table-tops and shelves were numerous and personal. A pile of laundry lay in a corner, a tray of smudged glasses sat beside the water cask and a collection of liquor bottles. Dog-eared books and random coins scattered over shelves. Gripping a nearby chair, Anders pushed his wobbly knees to an unsteady stand. Crackling flames licked up the stone of a blackened fireplace, with the only other source of light being the candle. A window on the far side of the room revealed a darkening twilight sky.

Anders stumbled toward the liquor bottles first and drank deeply from the first one his shaky hand landed upon. The stopper required multiple frustrated attempts to replace, and the bottle clinked hard against the tabletop despite his attempt to set it down gently. Anders made his way toward the window. Off to the west the sun’s upper half peeked above the horizon, casting a pink glow over what he knew from memory to be the farmlands outside the city’s protective wall. In the street three stories below, blurry orbs swayed as lanterns illuminating the paths of their holders. Flickering orange warmed the nearby windows. Dusk had come quickly, or so it seemed. But it had been nearly impossible to measure the passing of time while trying to deal with burning eyes. He vaguely remembered guards yelling, and Solona growling in his ear as she gripped his upper arm and hoisted him to his feet. With a guard’s help, they’d dragged him upstairs and dropped him beside a basin. The frantic splashing of water in his eyes had soaked his whole robe. Though he hadn’t cared while it was happening, a cold breeze hit the window, and then spread over the heavy wetness against his chest. He shivered so hard his teeth chattered. At first opportunity he’d need to change, or at least pull the sodden robes off and dry out by the fire.

Solona had grown impatient with how long the process of clearing his eyes had taken. He’d heard her fidgeting as he’d sat back from the basin and tried to open his eyes, waiting to see if the burning would return again. Time after time he’d lunge toward the water and keep splashing, and had even been forced to hold his eyelids open with his fingers while Solona dumped water into them. Her grip on his cheeks and shoulders as she’d assisted had been rough and forceful. Part of him was glad he’d not been able to see her face. He was sure it bore that same snarl of hatred he’d seen on so many others after his mouth had gotten the best of him. Now that it was finally over, Anders’ muscles quivered with cold and shock. 

Anders sighed. The liquor burned its way through his empty stomach, and he swallowed hard to prevent himself from heaving. Numbness would soon be on the fire’s heels, and with it a lessening of how much the memory of his own behavior already stung. Another failure, another regret lumped into a whole secret treasury of them. Niggling at the back of his mind was that pathetic little voice that had lead him astray, the one which dared to hope that she might forgive his ineptitude with courting. She was from the Circle too, after all. Hadn’t she known what it was like? Growing up with “Love” as a dirty word, he’d merely done what everyone else had done: copied those who came before him. Quick trysts between Templar shifts and hushed meetings behind bookshelves. Multiple partners meant no one could be singled out and targeted by the Templars. Sometimes relationships grew inside the Circle, such as his with Karl, but they’d both fumbled through that process together, and not without many starts and stops. The risk he and Karl had been taking weighed over both of them, infecting their moments together with doubts and fears. But that was all Inside. A whole separate world from the Outside. He still wasn’t sure how to exist without those doubts and fears.

And it always seemed to come to this same point. When it looked like the end of something he cared about was near, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from doing or saying something stupid.

 

All too soon Solona was stomping through the door again, rattling the glass bottles as it slammed behind her a second time. He cast an eye over his shoulder to see her striding wearily toward the sofa before the fireplace, the force draining out of her with every step. She dropped onto the sofa as though her body weighed more than she could carry.

Anders waited in silence. He patted the part of his cheek struck by her fist and found normal flesh over familiar cheekbone. A twitch of discomfort remained in the joints of his jaw and neck from the impact of her blow, which Anders soothed with a wave of healing warmth. Even after the discomfort faded, somewhere within his cells remained the memory of the pain, a phantom resonance that seemed to throb despite his mended flesh. His eyes too continued to water, even after he blinked and confirmed that the burning was gone.

He opened his mouth to voice one of the many emerging questions on his mind. _Where are we? How long are we staying? Will you hate me forever now, just like all the others do?_ But closed it again quickly. Solona’s form was slumped forward, her head resting in her hands. Not sure what else to do, Anders walked over the liquor bottles again and squinted at the label on the bottle. Small print swam in his watery vision, and with a shrug he filled the cleanest looking glass with some caramel liquid. Almost timidly, he walked it over to Solona and held the glass against her shoulder.

At first her only movement was the rise and fall of her back as she took shallow, ragged breaths. Anders nudged her and she immediately pushed back, an attempt to elbow him off. The glass knocked loose from his grip and fell to the floor almost as if in slow motion. Anders watched numbly as the liquor splashed over the floorboards, and the glass impacted the wood, shattering into countless pieces. The reflection of the fire sparkled over the spray of shards. Neither Anders or Solona moved.

Finally, Solona raised her head enough to look over at the mess.

“Another,” she croaked. With a nod, Anders hurried to fill a replacement.

She took it as he dropped down onto the sofa beside her, his mind reeling to formulate an explanation. But even as the words came together in his mind again and again, he knew it wouldn’t take back the things he’d said, or the antagonizing way he’d said them.

Finally, Solona spoke. “It’s too late to walk home.” She sighed, fingertips squeezing at her brows. “Though I’ve half a mind to anyway, so I can feed you to the darkspawn.”

Anders snorted.

“But we’ve got this room all night. It was the only one available.”

“Whose room is this?”

Aside from all the personal items strewn about, the room was far larger than any Anders had ever seen in that tavern before. It must have taken up at least half of the building’s highest floor. It dawned on him eventually. “Ah, Mick’s quarters? Then where’s he sleeping?” The bed there would fit two, though he couldn’t imagine Solona would want to sleep anywhere near him.

“With his ladyfriend,” she said simply. Her voice wavered, seeming to have lost all energy. The force of her previous rage had quickly spent, leaving behind a drained shell. She drank down the glass of liquor and pulled her legs up onto the couch, tucking them off to the side. Anders watched flames from the fire dance in her distant eyes. Cold still clung to his wet robes, but he made no move to peel them off yet. 

“I’m sorry about all that, Sol.” The words tumbled out of his mouth without forethought. An apology. He would have thought with as many times as he’d fucked up in the past, he’d be better at them. But they still felt strange. 

She shook her head so weakly the movement was almost imperceptible. “No, you’re not. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

He sighed again. Technically she was right. As his muscles stopped quivering and the silence stretched on, shame gathered in the pit of his stomach like a cold, steel ball. The truth was that he _was_ sorry. Sorry for hurting her, sorry for killing what spark of interest might have remained in her for him. And yet… there was no denying that Nathaniel’s reaction was exactly what Anders had been angling for.

Cautiously, Anders reached out and squeezed her calf, not even sure why he was assuming she’d want his feeble attempt at comforting her now. In a swift motion, her boot shot out. White exploded in his vision. The next thing Anders knew, he was doubled over his own knees, a blindingly intense ache clenching his stomach into itself and preventing him from taking a breath. He coughed and wheezed, gasping for a breath but his torso seemed paralyzed. Shaky hands vibrated with instinctively summoned magic as they clutched his quaking muscles. The magical warmth penetrated deep into his belly, and finally he was able to expand his abdomen, bringing in a gulp of sweet air to replace that she’d knocked out of him. He coughed again as he looked toward her and was startled to see her eyes sharp, face twisted into a sneer.

Her second glass fell to the floor as she pounced, clinking against the wood and then rolling toward the hearth. Anders fell back against the sofa. Suppressing the habit to call up a defensive spell, he went limp and accepted her attack. Her knee jarred into his ribs as she clawed her way on top of him, then her fists began to fall. Despite their small size, they landed with the weight of boulders, smashing hard into his chest and head, sending sharp pangs of pain in all directions. He heard himself grunting with each blow his body absorbed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was glad for the barrage of violence.

 _“It’s not fair!”_ she wailed. The hits slowed, and Anders thought he heard a sob. “It’s not fair that _you_ never have to feel any bloody pain. You get hit, you heal it. You’re not left to suffer like the rest of us. Is that why everything is such a big fucking joke to you?”

His left eyelid was heavy, and pain like daggers shot down his neck. His whole head throbbed with the rhythm of his own pulse. Different spots stood out as sorer than the rest: a split lip quickly growing fat, a warm wet bruise on his brow. He sat as still as a statue and breathed through it, waiting for the blows to resume. But as quickly as her attack had begun, it seemed to be over. Her thighs over his quivered, and then slowly began to sink down to rest upon his. Despite the fact that his head felt like a bloody pulp, his manhood began to rise for her. She was warm and heavy, and mounted in his favorite position. He managed to lift one eyelid to see her face. Even through the blur, anger blazed from her large brown eyes. He squirmed his hips, trying to scoot back from the center of her thighs. He could only imagine how much more she would rage if she were to feel how his body was betraying him.

“No,” he croaked.

“No, what?” she spat.

“It’s not a joke,” he answered.

 

And then her weight, her heat was gone, retreated to her side of the couch. Blood oozed down his face, droplets pattering against his water-soaked collar. He remained still, taking in the pain that pulsed through his head. She was wrong of course. That powder had hurt like a fucking poisonous _fire_. And, it had hurt for a very long time and he hadn’t been able to stop it. Is that how it was for everyone who couldn’t heal? Unless you had a pocket full of potions, you just endured, and waited. Or searched for another solution. Perhaps it wasn’t fair. But this was how the Maker had made him.

The room seemed to be spinning, though his vision had returned to an incomprehensible blur as blood dripped into the only eye he could open. Every cell in his body screamed. The alcohol and the pain, the empty stomach and the shock of his struggle with the powder all converged into a dizzy delirium. A need to hurl gripped his stomach, and he lurched forward, emptying a stomach-full of sour liquor down his shins and onto his boots. He heaved again and felt himself reeling forward, unsure which direction was down.

“Maker,” Solona gasped. “Anders… okay, just… go ahead and heal it.”

He heard the words, but even as his hands connected to the spidery webs of the Veil, his torso was seized by another forceful retch. Footsteps clambered about, stumbling around the room behind him. Soon after something scraped against the floor as it was slid before him. A warm hand landed on his upper arm, much gentler than the impatient hands that had gripped him at the water basin.

 

When his stomach was empty, the retching finally slowed. His whole body felt like a pulpy wound.

“Can you heal now?” Her voice in his ear was soft, the anger gone. A few more gulps of air, and he finally let the magic come. The familiar glow of healing buzzed forward, seeping from his bones out to his flesh, one of the few comforts in his life he could always count on. With sweet waves of tingles, he let the magic flow over him. His fleshed itched slightly as cuts and scrapes closed. When it was done, he opened his eyes to see swimming dots of blue and purple marring his vision. A vile bitterness coated his tongue. He let his head fall against the back of the sofa and whimpered against the still spinning room. Healing, as wonderful as it was, couldn’t put food in his stomach, or rehydrate his parched cells. Or subdue his body’s desire for liquor. That his soaked robe lay like a patina of ice over his chest and shoulders was enough to tip the scale into full born misery.

“Um, are you done?” Solona asked. “You still look like shit.”

Anders couldn’t help but snort. “How kind of you to notice.”

“I’ll… I’ll go get us some food.” With that, Solona got up and left.

 

 

 

“Why did you say those things?” Solona asked as she set aside her empty bowl. With every bite Anders took he felt a little bit of strength returning. As soon as the room had stopped spinning he’d asked for a glass of liquor but Solona had put her foot down. _We are not going to drink all Mick_ _’s liquor. Water, only, for the rest of the night. For both of us._

Anders scraped the last of his bowl and then set it inside hers. With his wet robe finally peeled off, he gathered the blanket tighter around his shoulders and scooted toward the fire. Crackling flames bathed him in glorious heat.

“Because I’m an asshole,” he answered seriously. She glanced up at him with a frown. Her purpled eyelids drooped over her the dark orbs of her eyes, and her brown locks hung in unkempt strings. She looked as though she’d just fought a war. Anders’ cheeks burned as he looked at her. Her weariness tonight was _his_ fault.

“I don’t know, Solona. That just… happens sometimes. Things just come out of my mouth, and they hurt people and I can’t seem to stop it. It’s just who I am, I guess.”

She regarded him quietly. Pulling a foot out from under her, she began to unlace her boots.

“I mean…” Anders continued. “I… It was clear walking up to you that… it’s you and Nathaniel now. And this is how it always goes for me. So I wanted to make Nathaniel feel as shitty as I did.”

“It’s probably not me and Nathaniel anymore.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he said.

A quiet laugh shook her. “Are you really?”

He thought a moment. No point in lying now. “No.”

Solona’s brows knitted together, her eyes evading him.

“How did you…” he began, but stopped. She waited quietly as he searched for the right words. “How did you learn to do this?”

“What?”

“Well, you grew up in the Circle, the same Circle I did. Things were the same there as they were in the one I was at before.”

She sighed and slipped a boot off, then began to unlace the other.

“Yeah,” she answered. “What about it?”

“It’s just so different outside, isn’t it? What people expect? How they just sort of know the things to do and say to… come together. And stay together.”

“You mean relationships.”

“Yes.”

Solona sighed and shook her head. “It’s not easy. Even for people outside.”

“Yeah, but…” Anders drank from the glass of water beside him. Water and food had been a good call. His vision was sharp again, and the waves of dizziness hadn’t returned. He watched as Solona pulled her knees against her chest, condensing herself into a tiny ball. When he didn’t continue, her eyes found his. They were unexpectedly soft.

“Anders, I have no idea what I’m doing. I thought that was obvious.” She remarked as she looked away. “We wouldn’t be here right now if I did.”

 

 

The night was over in a blink. It seemed the moment Anders stretched out on the sofa and closed his eyes, light invaded the room and it was time to open them again. Solona dressed wordlessly, and stood looking out the window while Anders did the same. A quick breakfast in the tavern as Solona thanked Mick and they began their walk back to the Keep. That too was a silent trek, with Solona’s eyes so far away that he figured she wouldn’t hear him even if he did try to speak.

The sun was high when finally Vigil’s Keep came into view. And suddenly Solona’s pace quickened.

“Shit!” She strode forward, heading directly through the gate without acknowledging the guards.

“What?” Anders asked, confused. She moved directly toward the eastern wing of the Keep, and sprinted the last few steps to the door. Curious, Anders followed.

“There she is!” Exclaimed Lya as she turned away from the dough she was kneading.  Two elven servants were busy skinny carrots and potatoes, while a fire blazed in a large round hearth. Anders’ stomach growled as the hearty scent of baking bread filled his head. “Just gon’ be gone a few hours, she said!” Lya wiped her hands on a towel and stormed to the corner of the room. “The little thing should be fine til then, she said!”

“I know, I’m sorry,” cringed Solona. “We didn’t intend to be out overnight. We just ran into… some problems.” Glancing to Anders, she gave an irritated shrug and turned to follow Lya. The women both approached a wicker basket on the floor, and Solona stooped to open the lid.

“I don’ know how to feed this damn thing! What do I look like!?” Lya bellowed. As Solona stood, a high-pitched and desperate sounding wail pierced the air. Solona turned around, her hands cupping the source of the noise. Drawn to the helpless sound, Anders’ feet carried him forward.

“So you didn't feed it?” Solona asked.

“I tried! The damn thing don’ know how to take milk from a bowl! I had to lock it in the closet to get any sleep last night.”

Solona’s face fell as she lifted the small creature up and eyed it. A tiny orange body twisted in her hands, its paws clawing at the air. Anders couldn’t help but reach for it. The pathetic mewling tugged at his heart. He couldn’t help but smile as his fingers met the warm fur on the top of its head.

“He hasn’t eaten since yesterday?” Anders couldn’t help but pry.

Knowing immediately what to do, he strode toward a shelf in the back and grabbed a clean towel off a stack.

“Where do you keep your cream?” he asked Lya. She gestured toward a ceramic pitcher on another shelf. In less than a minute Anders was seated at a table with a saucer of cream. He beckoned Solona, who seemed grateful to unload the squirming thing into his hands. Fragile and shaking, he felt it begin to purr almost immediately, seeming to calm as it settled against the warmth of Anders’ chest. Pinching a small portion of towel, he pulled enough to make small pocket of fabric, and then twisted. He laid it in the saucer of cream until the little bundle was soaked and dripping, and then placed it just under the kitten’s nose. The little thing was immediately quiet as it latched on and began to suckle. When the cream was gone, Anders resoaked the towel and offered it again. 

Lya huffed and returned to her dough.

“You can get little rubber nipple things at some markets. Maybe next time we’re in Amaranthine…” Anders said, but let himself trail off. He felt strangely in awe as he watched the mewling orange ball in his hand, so instantly soothed by a bit of cream and a warm chest. Visions of the mouser in the Circle tower came flashing back, the only pop of color in that year of grey and unbearable loneliness. How Anders had looked forward to that cat’s visits. The cat would chase the pebbles Anders threw across his cell with such gusto that, despite all the misery, he couldn’t help but laugh. He’d assumed at the time that his affection for that cat was because it was the only company he’d had as those weeks in solitary confinement turned into months. But some piece of understanding fell into place as Anders returned the towel to the cream, and brought it back to the kitten’s mouth. The kitten’s purrs intensified, vibrating warmth and contentment into Anders’ palm. It wasn’t just that that cat had been the only one to talk to on so many empty, torturous days. It was also that they seemed to understand each other, without need for words.

_This is a relationship I know how to have._


	20. Twenty

Solona’s lungs emptied as the door latch fell into place, a metallic _thunk_ as palpable as the thundering of her heart. The thick slab of door at her back suddenly felt like a shield, protecting her from all that lay beyond it: soldiers, guards and guests, everyone glaring at her with expectant eyes. So many questions thickening the air, whispers issuing from dark corners as one foot fell before the other, each step carrying her closer to peace. Of course, the whispers and questions had no catalyst on this homecoming, other than the strangeness of her party splitting and arriving back on different days. The weight of expectation had been her constant companion for nearly two years now, making itself known at unexpected moments and threatening to crush her into paralysis. Solitude was its only cure. Solona filled her lungs again with the room’s stale air. 

_Silence._

Her gaze flitted over familiar furnishings. The bed, with the lavish quilt she’d been gifted by Bhelen of Orzammar, beckoned her to collapse upon it. The bed seemed so innocent and innocuous there, half lit with flickering shadows. But the item she’d been thinking of all day remained tucked beneath the bedframe, tugging at her mind. A small marble container, rounded and smooth. Inside, all that remained of Alistair. Ash. Flecks of burnt skin and hair, wood and bone. _All that remains._

It had been hardly a full 24 hours since she’d stumbled into that shop and learned that eternity with Alistair had never actually been possible. And fewer hours still since she found solace in the arms of another. Somehow, in a single afternoon, she’d lost them both.

The memory of Anders’ sabotage tightened her jaw, setting her teeth to a grind. Anger still flared bright and hot in her chest, despite the understanding she and Anders seemed to find in the night. Yet it was hard to blame him too harshly, knowing now how he was just as adrift in the world as her. That confidence he exuded apparently was little more than a well-worn mask. But still, Nathaniel had fled from her in anger. And then regarded her with devastating neutrality when she’d finally located him in the courtyard, after thanking Anders for assuming care of that poor kitten. Nathaniel had already gotten to work on his weatherizations, and was perched upon a roof in the Keep village, hammering away at a slate tile. Solona approached meekly, fully aware that she was more at fault for everything than Anders was. She _had_ left Nathaniel alone in the rain and gone to Anders’s room. The point had been to squash the complication of her growing feelings for Nathaniel, to replace something meaningful with something empty and preserve her heart for Alistair. It was stupid, and also pointless, though she hadn’t known that then. Still, that had been Solona’s choice, and she’d chosen badly.

 _Do you have a moment?_ She’d asked Nathaniel and then waited, ignoring the twitch of dried mud on her cheek, the wet breath of winter billowing into her robe. Looking up at him, it was impossible not to admire how the labor had flushed his cheeks and loosened black flyaway tendrils from his braids. Each blow of his hammer arced gracefully through the air, hitting its target with measured precision. It was absurd how every little thing he did attracted her so, when only weeks ago she’d barely noticed him. He glanced at her quickly, and looked away again just as fast. Silence reigned as he merely shook his head, and then stood and walked to a more distant section of rooftop, disappearing from sight. 

A gaping, cold cavern seemed to open somewhere deep inside Solona’s chest. She’d nodded as she turned to walk away. It was about what she expected, even though she’d dared to hope a night’s rest might have put him in a more receptive and forgiving mood.

 

Solona shook away the memory of his cold stare as she stumbled to her bed and watched the patchwork quilt come up to meet her.  A fire crackled in the fireplace, begun by the servants once she and Anders had been sighted by the Keep’s watchtower.  A bath also occupied the furthest corner of the room, its water no longer steaming. Solona’s eyes fell disinterestedly upon it, thoughts slowed by the heavy hollowness permeating her bones. She’d get in at some point, and wash the mud from her hair. It was an act she’d always found perversely pleasant, picking the chunks of dried dirt off her scalp. With the tips of her fingernails she’d isolate a little pebble, and slide it down the strands it clung to. Often it hurt, but the sting of pulling hair follicles somehow never surpassed her ability to bear it. And so each time she pulled with a little more ruthlessness than before, testing the limits of her own threshold.

Rolling over the furthest edge, Solona hung over the side of the bed and pulled the quilt up from the floor, exposing the green canvas pack that sat beneath. She tugged it loose and slid it close. Straps and buttons resisted her fumbling to undo them, but after a burst of annoyed yanking and digging, her fingers hit the smooth rock. It was heavy, though the weight came from the marble and not its contents. She brought it to her chest and rolled back to the center of her bed, the heavy stone cradled against her ribs. Alistair’s face floated behind her eyes, though his features seemed blurred. She tried to recall that little half smile he’d flash her nearly every time she looked at him. And the crinkle at the sides of his eyes when he laughed. It seemed more difficult than ever to conjure up the details of his face. Had it already been so long she was forgetting what he looked like? There’d never been a chance to have him pose for a portrait, and she doubted anyone at Redcliffe would have cared enough to have one made in his youth. Never again would she be able to refresh the memory of his image, and someday it might fade away completely just as her mother’s had. The urn itself was plain, just a heavy, cold, grey cylinder, requiring Solona make an effort to recognize its significance. _This is all that is left of my love._

Turning to her side, Solona curled her body around its cool weight, conscious that she was still wearing her muddy boots, that the dirt clinging to her hair was now dusting the pillow beneath her head. She was soiling her bed, even though there was a perfectly full tub just meters away. But her limbs were too heavy, her chest too hollow.

Even with Alistair’s remains in her arms, her mind went floated habitually back to Nathaniel. To his calm, confident manner in the tavern, and how he’d slid that glass of water toward her with a frown of concern. Strange that so soon after receiving such devastating news, she could find herself so deeply soothed simply by being in his company.

But it wasn’t just his company, was it? For weeks now he was the only one who’d ever showed her any real concern, and somehow, he managed to do so without making it feel like pity. He offered his help and wasn’t overbearing with unsolicited advice. He’d offered his arms, his protection…

 _I see you,_ he’d said.

Solona’s heart fluttered in her chest. The stone against her ribs felt like merely that: stone. Whatever other meaning it might have held escaped the reality of its lifeless form. The void inside her beckoned her to sink beneath the covers of the bed and not rouse again, to sleep away the awareness of loss that pierced her mind with each intrusive thought. And yet there was more that Nathaniel had said. _I try to stay focused on the here and now, to save my energy for the things I can affect._

But Solona felt no energy left within her, only the desire to withdraw from consciousness.

Nathaniel’s touch would help. The way he’d lightly draw his fingertips over her skin, or look at her with a sharpness that was startling. Was there anything here and now that could be affected?

_Of course there is._

Before she could suppress the impulse, Solona sat up like a shot. The urn still hadn’t warmed despite how she held it; it radiated cold and stillness. It was Alistair she’d hoped to remember when she’d pulled it from under her bed, but suddenly her mind was running ahead, thinking of things she could _do._ If the present situation was so unbearable, then what about it could be changed? _What would Nathaniel do?_

Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, Solona rose and strode toward the fireplace. A bare spot on the mantle seemed a natural place for Alistair’s ashes. If this was all that remained of a love she could never recapture, why hide it away? There, at least, she could see it. She could greet it in the morning, offer her memory of Alistair the acknowledgment it deserved. 

But for now, she would do the one thing she could think of and find Nathaniel again. Demand that he listen to her explanation and not blow her off like he’d had less than an hour ago. Nodding to herself, Solona turned and pushed her way through the bedroom door, back out into the hallways she’d been so eager to escape moments before. Alistair was gone, but Nathaniel was here, now, somewhere. Perhaps his opinion of her could still be saved, especially now that she was sure of her feelings.

The memory of his lips against hers made the floor turn to jelly for a moment. Solona swooned as she walked, making her way back toward the buzzing of the main hall. Surely he was still out in the courtyard, hammering at a rooftop, sealing a leak that would have let in the winter rains. Eyes scanning the multitudes of bodies for dark leathers and black hair, Solona hardly heard words spoken in her direction. A few eyes connected with hers as she walked, and she offered an obligatory nod in their direction. Aware that she remained streaked with mud from her travels home, she tried to comb her fingers through her hair, but only felt the tug of tangles and caked-in dirt. She sighed. It didn’t matter. What mattered was what she had to _say._ What mattered was that she tried to put things right.

Bursting out of the main doors, she was greeted by a milky grey sky and fat drops of icy rain. The courtyard, dingy and abandoned, was a dreary sight. Guards hunched under awnings, and puddles collected between patches of brown grass. Sending out her Warden awareness, she scanned the proximity for the sensation of other Wardens. Two registered behind her, deep within the Keep, and one within the Keep tavern. Another somewhere before and below, and like a tracking dog zeroing in upon its prey, Solona’s head turned in its direction. The basement.

Without giving herself a moment to think, she sprinted through the rain and pulled the basement door open, her body carrying her toward the sensation effortlessly. Images of a reconciliation clouded her thoughts, her chest clenching with the hope of gaining Nathaniel’s understanding, and maybe, if she said the right things, another kiss. She almost smiled at the thought, her body suddenly streaming with anticipation. She pressed it down. _No sense getting ahead of yourself. He hadn_ _’t even cared to say a word of greeting while on the roof._

Nails cutting into her palms, Solona crept carefully through the dark of the basement. Somewhere up ahead a lit brazier glowed, casting off just enough light to allow her to sidestep crates and refuse. The air still stank of death. Solona shivered as she recalled killing her way through ghouls and darkspawn shortly after her arrival at the Keep.

The presence grew nearer, and Solona held its location in her mind, recognizing the moment it became aware of her in return. She made her way down hallways and through storage rooms, until at last she realized her destination. The trophy room. Nathaniel had mentioned once that he spent a lot of time there as a child, reveling in the tales of his father’s heroics.

Nathaniel’s eyes were trained upon her the moment she stepped into view. Sitting on the floor of the trophy room, he had an opened book in his lap. All the room’s braziers were lit, warming the room with an orange light. Nathaniel didn’t look happy to see her. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Solona continued forward and lowered herself beside him, unsure where even to begin.

Nathaniel was motionless, his furrowed brows casting his eyes into shadow.

Trying to summon up the resolve that had propelled her from her room, Solona cleared her throat. Suddenly faced with him, everything she could think of to say jumbled together into a big mess. She sighed.

“If you’ve come to apologize, it’s needless,” Nathaniel said. “You’ve always been free to do as you please. I’ve overstepped on many occasions and that is no fault of yours. It is I who apparently cannot take a hint.”

“Nathaniel…”

“No, it’s fine. If Anders is your choice, then I respect that. In fact, I can see how the two of you are a more appropriate match. Either way, I’ll keep my attentions to myself from here forward.”

“No, Nathaniel, that’s not what I want. It was… I have never perceived this to be a choice between you and him. I never…”  
 Pausing, Solona studied the lines of his face. He was so beautiful that it almost hurt to look at him. She dropped her eyes down to her chapped fingers, her nails still caked with mud.  “I never put much thought into… well into really anything I’ve done over the past weeks. Months.”  As she said it, she realized how unflattering such a confession was. Especially to someone as mindful and collected as Nathaniel. Sitting there beside him, she realized for the hundredth time how she’d been sleepwalking her way through life in Amaranthine, and how as a result, people’s lives were affected in ways more deeply than she’d ever bothered to notice.

Unexpectedly, Nathaniel laughed.

“That much is clear.”

Resisting the impulse to grab his hand, Solona sighed again. _This is the moment. Alistair is gone, but Nathaniel is here, now._

“I don’t want you to keep your attentions to yourself,” she muttered. “I know I’ve done many stupid things. Things I haven’t even begun to really process, and I know I don’t deserve your attention now. But I want it anyway. I want _you._ _”_

“And yet, your actions indicate differently. I’m not in the habit of wasting my time on people who aren’t straight with me,” Nathaniel answered. “At least, I didn’t used to be. To be honest I am still not so sure why you’ve had the effect on me that you have. I’ve done things wildly out of my own character for you. And in return, you’ve toyed with me.”

Desperation surged through her. Obeying her impulse, she grabbed his hand and pulled it toward her.

“I’m sorry, Nathaniel. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. Anders was… I don’t know. It was stupid. It was _you_ I wanted, it was you in my mind the whole time. I wasn’t acting at the tavern. I’m so sorry.”

Nathaniel was quiet for a long moment. Heart blaring in her ears, Solona adjusted her grip on his hand, hoping that at any moment he might close his fingers around hers and hold her back.

“I believe you,” Nathaniel said. “I believe that you are sorry. Despite the fact that you still stayed the night there with him. And then gifted him a kitten upon your return, even after the horrible things he said.”

Nathaniel’s hand slipped out of hers. He closed the book in his lap and set it aside. Solona let her head hang. Shame raged up into her cheeks, burning them despite the air’s chill. She shook her head, fighting the urge to descend into self-pity.

“I know that doesn’t look good, but I hope you’ll believe me when I say nothing happened in the night. We had no choice but to stay. And the kitten wasn’t a gift. He was relieving me of a burden.”

“ _He_ certainly seems to think it was a gift.  But it doesn’t matter, does it? None of that matters. As I said, you are free to do as you please.” 

Solona felt darkness closing around her vision, a buzzing firing up in her ears. Sitting in silence for a long moment, the drive to _do_ something, the inspirational burst from remembering his mantra of putting her energy into the here and now, slowly began to drain away.

Nathaniel took a deep breath.

“Sol, I know you’re not malicious. But you are careless, with yourself, and with the people who care about you. I do believe that you are sorry, but I don’t trust that you won’t act so carelessly again. You seem to need a savior, and I have, despite my better judgment, tried to be that. But what kind of a real relationship could possibly come from such inequality anyway?” Nathaniel laughed again, but his voice softened. “You are… so lovely. There is something about you that enchants me in a way I’ve never experienced—”

Solona looked up, a flame of hope kindling somewhere deep in her chest. His face, illuminated in soft firelight, bore an expression of adoration, his gaze piercing her in that sharply attentive way she’d come to crave. Lips parted, Solona was seized by another impulse. That kiss at the tavern. It had spoken volumes, hadn’t it? She’d felt then, how _right_ it had been? How many deep emotions it had stirred in her? Had it not done the same for him? Had he not felt how perfect it was?

Energy coursed through her, her breath catching in her throat. In the short moment of silence, Solona made a decision. Lunging forward, she slipped her palms against the course stubble of his jaw and clamped her mouth to his. Immediately his lips parted, head tilting to return her kiss as if drawn by some irresistible force. Solona exhaled, feeling her body magnetized to his, pressing forward for the familiar curves of his chest. Caressing his cheek with her thumb, she mapped the terrain of his face. A deep well of longing opened up in her gut, clenching with a physical pain around her heart. Eyes squeezed closed, she poured her desire into the kiss, savoring the soft contours of his lips, the warm fragrance of his neck, the silken strands of hair whispering over her fingers. Not bothering to hide the desperation coursing through her body, she crawled closer, drawn to his lap.

His hands, one resting warmly against her ribs, the other cupping her shoulder, stopped her advance. He ended the kiss with a sigh and pulled away.

“But…” he said with finality. The searing heartache in her chest flared as she took in his set jaw, snuffing out the hope she’d been clinging to. He pushed her gently back. Pliant and despondent, she sank back to the floor, her body cooling with every second she waited for him to finish. Though there seemed little point. It was too late. That fact was written all over his face.

 The words came, and she heard them, but they landed upon a cold, dead surface. Solona glanced around the room as her brain fuzzed out the pain of his rejection. Broken mountings on the walls where trophies had been pried away. Shards of glass where frames had fallen to the floor and cases had been shattered. Weapon racks emptied of their swords, picture frames coated in blood spatter. The here and now in which Solona had brought herself was littered with the remnants of destruction.

“Solona, I thought for a while there, especially back in the tavern, that you and I… that we might be able to make this work. Maker knows how fixated I’ve been on that possibility since you arrived here. But it turns out that what happened outside the tavern is probably a good thing. It made me acknowledge some things that I’ve been willfully blind to. I know you’ve experienced loss and pain. I know it’s not your fault that you act out the way you do. But it’s like you’re constantly poised to throw yourself off a cliff, or into a horde of darkspawn. And even after I pull you back from the brink, or _down off your watchtower roof_ … you turn around and climb right back up there again.”

Solona sat up, her eyes connecting to his with alarm. His words replayed in her mind, echoing with a gut-wrenching realization. All those mornings of waking in her bed after passing out on the roof… 

 His expression was apologetic, but his eyes were determined. The warmth from his kiss lingered on her lips, but his demeanor communicated steely resolve that overrode the memory of his touch. Solona felt her body rising to a stand. Turning to exit the room, she let herself be drawn into the darkness. His last words echoed through her mind for the rest of the walk back to her room.

 _Why should anyone be expected to save you, when you don't_ _want to be saved?_


	21. Twenty One

Velanna stabbed at the last chunk of carrot on her plate and eyed the empty spot at the bench beside Nathaniel. “Where’s the Commander?”

Nathaniel’s shoulders stiffened at the question. It was the second morning Solona hadn’t shown for breakfast. The first morning Nathaniel figured she just needed some space, and time, which was perfectly understandable. He’d kept himself busy by replacing shingles on a few rooftops and delegating repairs to some guards, but by the time he retired to his quarters, he realized he hadn’t seen her the entire day. Ever since, a heavy ball of dread had grown in his gut.

“I don’t understand how anyone experiencing this Warden stuff could skip a meal. Half the time I’m ready to eat my own staff.”

Velanna glanced up at Nathaniel as she scraped last night’s gravy from her plate with a hunk of bread. She huffed, took her last bite and pushed her plate away. Crossing her arms over her breasts, her glare shot over to Oghren who quickly averted his eyes. She’d already chastised him for gawking at her, but with her low cut outfit, it was difficult not to look. Nathaniel could sympathize with the dwarf. There was so much to see, you could practically count the woman’s ribs. It was a wonder how she didn’t get cold.

It hadn’t helped that she’d continued putting herself right in Nathaniel’s path ever since they’d walked back together from Amaranthine. Before that, Velanna had seemed annoyed by Nathaniel’s very presence, but though her attitude remained sour, her annoyance was now apparently joined by curiosity.

Anders too had been uncharacteristically quiet through breakfast, his attention absorbed in caring for the little kitten he carried with him everywhere he went. A fact for which Nathaniel had grown grateful. There’d been no mention of what took place in front of the tavern by either of them.

The orange ball of fur gave a pathetic mewl as Anders held a small piece of meat under its nose. Finally, Anders looked up.

“When was the last time anyone spoke with her?”

Nathaniel waited with a lump in his throat, glancing from face to face.

Oghren shrugged. “Er, I think I saw her talking to Gary a few days ago… or, wait… maybe that that was last week.”

“Gary?” Anders cast the dwarf a quizzical look.

“Yeah, old Garavel. Had a few pints with him once. A week ago? Or, maybe two weeks. What month is it now?”

“Well I haven’t seen her since she gave me little Pounce,” Anders added, his attention returning to the cat.

Oghren snorted. “You haven’t seen much of anything since getting that damned furball. You’ve got your head so far up that cat’s—”

Velanna groaned loudly, cutting him off. Oghren muttered the remainder of his statement into his flagon.

“Well I haven’t even _seen_ her since Amaranthine.” Velanna rose and crossed her arms over her chest again. “Hopefully she’s busy planning… something. You’d think we should be out killing darkspawn. That’s the whole point of this Warden business, right? I’m never going to find my sister just sitting around in this…” Velanna looked around at the dingy hall with a curled lip.

Nathaniel was surprised she didn’t shudder, what with the disgust written on her face. Sitting up straight, he followed her eyes around the dining hall, and bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue. Yes, the Keep was still in a state of disrepair in some places. Cobwebs occupied most corners, old stains marred the rugs, and rotting wood held up dusty stone. It might not have been pretty, but it had protected numerous generations of his family, and survived countless ambushes. Gritting his teeth, he tried to keep his voice level as he responded.

“This Keep has withstood multiple Ages and still stands strong. It might not be as elegant as your Dalish _tents,_ but at least it wouldn’t rip if someone were to shoot an arrow at it.”

Velanna scoffed. “Well if _your_ people weren’t constantly terrorizing my people, we wouldn’t have to be ready to move at a moment’s notice.” Turning, Velanna stomped toward the room’s exit. She paused and turned back. “And, I’ll remind you that it was the _Dalish_ who built all those _elegant_ ruins you spend your time desecrating and looting. Ruins ten times older than this shithole.”

Nathaniel dropped his eyes to his lap. She was right, of course. Suppressing a cold shiver, Nathaniel glanced at the platters and bowls that still held portions of reheated food. When all the Wardens were present for breakfast, each bowl would be scraped clean by the time he rose to leave. He dropped a half-cleaned drumstick onto his own plate, his appetite diminished. He couldn’t understand it either - the Warden hunger had always been stronger than any depression he’d endured.

“And you, loverboy?” Anders turned a sharp eye to Nathaniel. “When was the last time _you_ spoke to our absent Commander?”

Nathaniel swallowed the last of his tea but it didn’t help the lump in his throat. The entire two days had been a battle to suppress the urge to run to Solona and take back everything he’d said. To apologize, to kiss her again and tell her they’d make it work. He’d almost done exactly that more times than he could count, beginning nearly the moment she’d fled the trophy room.

He’d meant every word, but wished more than ever that he hadn’t needed to say it.

“The afternoon you two returned from Amaranthine.” Nathaniel took a shaky breath. “Shortly before sundown.”

“So…” Anders stared into space for a moment. “Two days ago?”

Nathaniel nodded and, with a cold shiver, spoke aloud what seemed too alarming to be possible. “So no one has even _seen_ her in two days?”

All the color drained from Anders’ face as he slipped the tiny kitten into a front pocket of his robe.

 _“Shit._ That can’t be good. _”_ Anders rose and rushed toward the exit to the hall. Heart fluttering in his chest, Nathaniel leapt from the table, feet carrying him hurriedly behind Anders. In several steps he had overtaken the mage. Anders quickened his pace to keep up.

“What did you talk about?” Anders barked. “What did you say to her?”

Nathaniel began to speak, but then clamped his mouth shut. What had transpired between him and Solona was between them alone.

“It wasn’t her fault, you know,” Anders hissed. “Those things I said? I lied. Well… exaggerated.”

Nathaniel barked a derisive laugh. “I figured.”

They turned a corner, crossing the Main Hall toward the wing which held her quarters.

“And don’t worry,” Anders added, “she beat me to a bloody pulp after you left us there.”

Nathaniel gritted his teeth, and tried to breathe away the acid roiling in his stomach. Hours of banging nails into shingles might have kept his body occupied, but it had allowed his mind to wander freely, losing itself in replaying their talk, their kisses, their moments at the tavern, over and over again. Having her in his arms just felt _right._ Any time spent thinking too hard on her kiss ended up with his heart racing. Those words he’d longed to hear from her for months, _I want you_ , had finally been spoken, and he’d said _no._

He’d even indulged himself in the fantasy of seeking her out, and begging her to forget everything he’d said, in the hopes that indulging such flights of fancy might quell the urge to follow through. So clearly in his mind could he see her face as he imagined drawing her close, and lifting her chin with a finger.

_“Solona, I made a mistake…”_

It had taken so much effort to resist the urge, to remind himself that if they were going to be together, they needed to do it right. And that did not mean falling into an unhealthy, imbalanced coupling. No, as much as he hated doing it, his logic had been sound. The healing she needed was not something he —nor anyone outside of herself— could provide.

Could he have been kinder about it? He wasn’t exactly _unkind_. He was merely himself, someone who wouldn’t  mislead or sugarcoat, or beat about the bush. He spoke to others the way he appreciated being spoken to in return, and were it him in Solona’s place, he would have wanted the bandage ripped off quickly.

Underneath it all remained the hope that this was all a step in the right direction. A direction which ultimately led to her back in his arms again.

Her door came into view, a tall rectangle of aged mahogany. Each step toward it seemed to hardly cover any distance. His mind reached for the space beyond it, seeking the grey spot in his awareness that would signify another Warden, but all he felt was the pulsing presence of Anders beside him. Anders’s steps slowed as they finally met the door. On the other side, a gaping expanse of emptiness.

“She’s not in there,” Anders observed. Though Anders seemed relieved by the information, Nathaniel’s panic only rose. Images of her lifeless body flashed through his mind. _Or perhaps she was using the stones! The ones she had in the tavern that hid the taint!_ Slipping his lock picks from his pocket, Nathaniel dropped to a knee before the handle. His fingers, usually so steady and sure, struggled to slide the picks into the small keyhole.

“Are you sure it’s even locked?” Anders asked. With a sigh, Nathaniel pulled at the latch, and then cast a glare up to Anders to confirm that it was not turning. Solona never left her door unlocked.

The slight tremor of the pins falling into place reverberated into his palm. He took a deep breath as he stood and returned the lock picks to their pouch.

The door opened to darkness. Heavy drapes drawn over the windows blocked out the morning light. Logs in the fireplace sat cold and unburnt. Silence echoed into his bones.

“Solona?”

Anders breezed past him, plunging deep into the shadows of the room. Nathaniel’s breath hitched in his throat as he followed, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness.

“Not here,” Anders confirmed, spinning on his heel. “But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? At least we know she isn’t wasting away in here.”

Pausing for a moment, Nathaniel let his eyes linger on the top of her bed, the patchwork quilt pulled neatly over the mattress. The tabletops and dressers were clear of clutter, not that her room was ever messy. The faint floral scent of her soap hung in the air. Briefly Nathaniel was transported back to the countless nights he’d brought her into her room and laid her upon that very bed. And to that cherished night that she’d clutched his arm in her sleep and begged him to stay. He could still feel the hollow ache that had burst in his chest when she’d uttered that name, not his, but _Alistair._ The ache grew sharp and urgent as his words to her two nights ago came back to him, joining the earlier memory.

Squeezing at his brow, he swallowed down the useless panic. Without waiting for Anders to leave, Nathaniel turned and strode out of the room. Who might know where she went? It was already established that none of the Wardens knew. His feet carried him down the hall without any decided destination. Before he was prepared for the onslaught of people, he found himself within a horde of them, more noble visitors standing in angry clusters throughout the Main Hall, all seeking the aid of the Wardens, of Solona. Without using his eyes, he scanned the room for tainted bodies. In the far corner, the sensation of a Warden stood motionless. Numbly, he turned toward it, weaving through women with tidy, upper-class dresses and gaunt farmers whose dull eyes held the shine of fear. Even before he reached the sensation of the taint, he heard Oghren’s voice, laughing his familiar booming laugh.  Not bothering to continue, Nathaniel spun and finally engaged his eyes in his search, searching through thin, impatient faces. Nowhere could he find the smooth porcelain of Solona’s milky cheeks, or the glossy brown of her hair.

Another figure drew his attention, Garavel and Varel, their voices raised as they addressed a sour faced man in noble attire. Ignoring their conversation, Nathaniel made his way to the edge of the crowd, circling behind Garavel and approaching silently. When the moment seemed right, he spoke over Garavel’s shoulder.

“Do you have a moment?”

With a nod, Garavel stepped to the rear of the room.

“Do you know where the Commander is?” Nathaniel asked, watching Garavel’s face closely as he spoke. The man registered no surprise at the question, which confirmed that he had to know _something._ Instantly, relief flooded down Nathaniel’s body.

But instead of answer with a location, Garavel shook his head.

“Where is she?” Nathaniel continued. “No one has seen her in two days.”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Garavel answered grimly.

“What?” Nathaniel scoffed. “When will she return? Who is with her?”

Garavel shook his head again, his shoulders rising in a helpless shrug.

“You don’t know, or you’re not at liberty to say?”

“Well…” Garavel sighed. “Both.”

The rest of the day passed at a snail’s pace. Nathaniel stationed himself at a corner of the battlements to seal a crack that leaked rainwater down into the grain storage, one eye repeatedly glancing to the roads outside the gate. His attention wandered relentlessly, his mind pulled toward any figure seen traveling across the courtyard. Cold drops of rain glazed the stone walkways. The dark grey of the Keep walls melded into the milky grey of the overhead clouds, while a chilly breeze tousled his hair. But despite the discomfort, he couldn’t pull himself off his perch, and once the crack in the stone was sufficiently sealed, he pulled the collar of his coat tight around his ears and sank down into long, frigid contemplation.

Garavel’s response had been bewildering, and had been enough to indicate that, no matter where it was that she was hiding, she did not want Nathaniel’s company. Still Nathaniel was racked with the urge to equip his bow and rush out into the wilds beyond the Keep wall. He was a skilled tracker, and if she was out there somewhere, he was confident he could find her, even if she had one of those strange black stones hiding her presence.

And what if she wasn’t out there at all? What if she’d simply requested some time alone, and had taken up residence in one of the Keep’s many unused rooms, with the stone an extra layer of privacy? It seemed inconvenient timing, what with the Hall practically bursting with guests and dissidents. But then, he noted, that seemed to be the permanent state of the Main Hall these days, with or without Solona’s presence.

When the sky grew dim and the air bit sharply at his cheeks, Nathaniel gave up his spot and slunk sullenly off the battlements.

The next day came and went with no news. The ache in Nathaniel’s chest seemed to have taken up permanent residence, and he ignored the various chatter and questions of the other Wardens at the table as he chewed his way through bite after tasteless bite. His tea was cold by the time he took his first sip, his mind fixed distractedly on the question of Solona’s whereabouts. His ears perked for any voice that sounded like her, for any woman with long brown hair and luminous eyes. After breakfast, he passed through the Main Hall again, ignoring the rabble of discontented visitors. When Varel’s voice rose over the din of grumbling, Nathaniel froze, his eye meeting Garavel’s.

“The Commander is currently working on a plan to address the problem of the trade routes. We’re recruiting as many new soldiers as we can, but there will be a training period before we can put them on duty.” Varel’s raspy voice spoke with authority, and the response of the crowd seemed favorable. “Please understand, we need these trade routes  secured just as badly as you do. But progress takes time; it will not be instantaneous.”

Garavel’s gaze flicked quickly away from Nathaniel, his shoulders squared with what appeared to be discomfort. Nathaniel snarled to himself. _Is that what she’s out doing? Recruiting new soldiers?_

Varel continued. “Please, spread the word. Any able-bodied man or woman who would like to enlist should see either Garavel or myself for more information. The Commander has pledged to ensure that after training, you can be stationed back in your own communities if you so desire. We will train and equip you to protect your own homes, and your neighbors. We all need to work together.”

It seemed absurd that she would not request the help of her fellow Wardens for something so basic as recruiting soldiers. Once the crowd began to disperse, Nathaniel marched back to Garavel.

“Is that true?”

“It is the directive we were given last time we saw her,” Garavel confirmed.

“So that’s where she is, then? Out recruiting soldiers?” Nathaniel could hear the impatience in his own voice, and made an effort to soften it. It wasn’t Garavel’s fault if Solona had told him not to disclose her activities. But Garavel only sighed heavily.

“I don’t know, Nathaniel.”

“You don’t know!?” The panic rose again, sending a cascade of icy chills down Nathaniel’s spine.

Garavel shook his head and walked away.

The fourth day saw the heaviest rains yet. Nathaniel wandered through the wings of the Keep, taking notes on locations where water seemed to be dripping through failing sealant, or where drafts blew icy gusts down hallways. On the third level, he found himself standing before a panoramic window, staring out over the landscape outside the Keep’s walls. The bay beyond the yellow coastline was the color of dishwater, its rocky shores blurry with mist. The rain poured in torrents, pelting against the window and collecting in scattered pools and streams along the ground. Nathaniel could hardly imagine what it would be like to camp in such weather.

Exhaling a shaky breath, he caught himself on the verge of something he hadn’t attempted in… well he wasn’t sure if he’d _ever_ properly said a real, genuine prayer. But his thoughts took the form of a wish, that wherever Solona was, she was safe and dry. And _alive_. He almost laughed at himself, casting a wish or a prayer to the feet of a deity he wasn’t even sure he believed in. But it certainly couldn’t do any harm, at least none that hadn’t already been done.

Imagining the gate open, and Solona walking through it, he felt a pang of desperation to have her back. To at least know _something._ Revisiting the warmth of the tavern, he indulged in the memory of her lips against his neck, the way her fingers dug into his back, his sides. That slight whimper he’d felt as much as heard when their tongues met in a kiss. In the basement, the feverish resolve in her eyes as she pleaded. And how that flame had died as he watched her react to the things he said. How he longed to say the words, “I’m sorry.” And he was, as deeply sorry as he’d ever been.

Standing alone before the window, it hardly seemed to matter that she had a host of crushing baggage. After all, he had his own baggage too. His very name was his baggage, and she hadn’t seemed to care. He repeated to himself that it was better for her. He’d phrased his rebuff of her advances in a way that made him sound like he only cared about himself. But he could never have gone through with something so difficult, with depriving himself of the one thing he’d wanted since the moment she’d freed him from the dungeons, if he didn’t believe that it was the right thing to do. For her. To the bloody Void with himself.

A presence drew his eye away from the window. At the end of the empty corridor, another Warden approached. Anders had tried to engage him a few times, seeking news. The politest response Nathaniel could muster was to give him a stiff shrug, but he couldn’t imagine the mage seeking him out up here. He held his breath as he waited for the figure to emerge from the shadows, not daring to believe that it could be the face he wanted to see. When platinum hair and a lithe figure cut through the dark he released his breath, and turned back to his dreary landscape. Numbness permeated his bones, whether from the cold or worry he wasn’t sure.

Velanna came to a stop beside him and peered out the window. He could feel her disdain rising as she surveyed the ugly landscape, a plain picture of wet browns and greys. Even before she spoke he could feel himself bristling, anticipating some disparaging remark about his home. She stood quietly for a heavy moment, and then sighed.

“Is there anywhere in this —” she began. Detecting the expected note of disgust, Nathaniel cut her off.

“Save it. Ask someone else. I’m not in the mood.”

“Excuse me?” Indignant, she shifted on her feet.

“Go bitch about how horrible everything is to someone else. I was enjoying the silence.”

Velanna scoffed, but Nathaniel didn’t dare look her way.

“Actually,” her voice was icier than the rain. “I was going ask, since you seem to know this place better than anyone…”

Nathaniel waited.

“If there was someone in residence who could help me get something new to wear. I’ve already visited the storage, but everything there is armor or made for humans. And, well, we elves have different… proportions.”

He turned to face her, noticing for the first time the thin blanket she had pulled tight around her shoulders.

“Ah, so you _do_ get cold.” He laughed softly. It occurred to him suddenly that this was the first thing he’d spoken out loud all day.

“What?” She frowned.

He shook his head. “Nothing. But yes. Unfortunately, the seamstress is down in the village, and there’s no way to get there without going outside. I can take you there once the rains let up, if you don’t mind waiting.”

Velanna gave a nod. “Thank you.”

Minutes passed, with Velanna standing quietly beside him. Finally, he cast another look in her direction, surprised to see her staring wistfully out the window. Her brows had softened, as had her usually downturned mouth. Her face was quite pretty when she wasn’t scowling.

“You’re thinking about your sister?” Nathaniel asked. She glanced at him quickly and then looked away again.

“There’s one upside to the fact that she’s underground with that… thing. At least she’s not out in this rain.” She said.

“Your clan… did they spend a lot of time in this region?”

Velanna shrugged and tilted her head thoughtfully. “A while. Several months. But we’d been here before, though we usually move West when the rains get too bad. I’ve never stayed through a whole winter.”

“Well, it’s definitely a good idea to get some more appropriate clothing,” Nathaniel agreed.

“A lot of good it’ll do with all the standing around here.”

“Yes,” Nathaniel agreed. “But at least you’d stay warm. Besides, I’m sure the Commander has something in mind for us. Whenever she returns from…”

“You have a lot of faith in her.” Velanna sighed, glaring out the window again. “I’m not sure why.”

Nathaniel shrugged. “You’ve seen her fight. She’s the reason Ferelden survived the Blight. But she’s been through a lot, and she deserves our patience… And respect. It can’t be easy to have seen the things she’s seen.” He thought back to her story of Alistair dying in her arms. He remembered her voice choking as she spoke, the wild despair darkening her eyes.

For the hundredth time that day his stomach clenched into sour ball as his own words from the basement echoed in his ears. _Damnit, I should have been kinder!_ He could have held her for a while, at the very least. Found a different way to help than just giving her the same sort of “get your shit together” talk that his father used to dole out to his underlings like candy. The idea of watching the person he loved dying in his arms… a vision of Solona, draped heavy and limp over his lap, face and body draining of life before his very eyes, sent a shudder down into the root of him. No person should ever have to endure that.

“Hmph.” Velanna sighed. A fresh spray of rain pattered against the window. Gusts of wind whistled over the battlements. He felt a soft breeze caress his cheek and made a mental note to look for whatever in the hall was letting in a draft. Perhaps the windows should be boarded up. Then again, no one really used this level anyway.

“Well,” Velanna said. “I guess we can ask about her plan.” She nodded toward the courtyard.

Nathaniel turned, eyes scanning through the wet shroud of grey. The gate had completed its slow swing open, and into the courtyard stepped a small, singular figure. Clad in black and moving unhurriedly, Nathaniel felt his breath leave him. Turning, he rushed past Velanna and into the shadows of the hall. Mind racing with possibilities, irritation rankled him. _She was out there alone! In the rain, the elements! Exposed to danger! Yes, she deserved patience but that was just stupid. What if she’d never returned? No one would ever have known what happened to her!_

He clenched his jaw as his feet flew down stairs, turning corners so quick he almost crashed into a girl carrying a steaming bucket of water. So many things he could think of to say, no, to _yell,_ but as strong as the desire was, the need to grab her and hold her was stronger. She was back, presumably okay. Probably hungry, certainly cold, but those were both things that could easily be remedied.

_Four bloody days, Solona! If you were trying to torture me, you succeeded._

He skidded to a stop in the Main Hall in time to watch the usual crowd hush and turn toward her. His Warden senses reached for her, but it was like flailing toward a void. Stunned, he could scarcely move as he took in the vision of her. Covered almost from head to toe in darkspawn ichor, Solona walked quietly, her eyes hooded by tired, purple lids. One arm was gathered up in a tattered, makeshift sling, her fingers stained with blood and curled unmoving against her chest. Smudges of black on her cheek stood in stark contrast to the gaunt paleness of her face. Either the ichor was fresh, or it was so thick that even the rain hadn’t been able to wash it off. As she passed by, a plume of darkspawn stench wafted in her wake. Faces around him crumpled with distaste as it hit their senses. Nathaniel even thought he saw clumps of grey flesh clinging to strands of her hair.

The silence of the room was broken when Garavel and Varel pushed through the crowd. Nathaniel couldn’t seem to move from his spot, even when bile rose up his throat at the sight of Garavel placing a hand at the small of her back. Protective, almost possessive, the captain and Seneschal ushered her through the crowd and toward the door in the furthest corner of the Hall. Quickly, they made their way toward the War Room, the room in which plans were mapped and initiates all took their Joining.

Solona never looked at him, though she must have sensed he was there. Her passage had the effect of seeing a ghost, his brain constantly reaching for the sensation of her that it couldn’t locate. Somewhere under the stained black robe she must have  kept the stone.

Finally snapping back into himself, Nathaniel pushed through the bodies. Yelps of alarm rose behind him as he bumped past nobles and waiting peasants. He escaped the crowd in time to see Garavel turn at the door and motion to a nearby guard.

“Get Anders!” Garavel barked the words with urgency.

Nathaniel closed the distance between them, leaning as he walked, trying to get another look at her through the doorway. Attempting to slip around Garavel and into the War Room, he felt a solid thump against his chest. It was Garavel’s palm, followed by the square shoulders of the Captain himself, blocking Nathaniel’s entry to the room.

“ _Only_ Anders,” Garavel warned.

Nathaniel sank back on his heels, the ache in his chest spreading.

“Sorry, Nathaniel. She doesn’t want to see anyone else.”

 


	22. Twenty Two

Solona’s fingernails rapping on the table echoed through the silence of the War Room. Garavel was out rounding up the Wardens for their follow-up meeting while Varel sat across the table, the quill in his hand scritching against a piece of parchment. Solona eyed the map laid out before her, two large X’s marked over the spots in the hills that she’d identified to them after her return. One of the X’s was close to the Pilgrim’s Pass, marking a crack in a mountain which would no longer spew darkspawn now that she’d sealed it. This would hopefully reduce the number of attacks on trade caravans traveling throughout Amaranthine. The other X  covered the mountain not far beyond the Keep itself.

Sighing, Solona opened her hand and stretched her fingers, glad to have movement returned. A dull ache from her injury still echoed in her cell’s memory, but moving the fingers confirmed that the flesh was mended and the bones were whole again. Exhaustion thundered through her body, her thoughts wandering to the bath being filled for her that very moment. Another sigh turned into a deep yawn.

  _Just get through this next briefing._

She could only hope that Varel didn’t mind doing most of the talking, as she was too tired to do much of it herself.

The promise of sinking into a bath of hot, cleansing water was enough to keep her from crawling under the table and catching some sleep. The injury she’d sustained the night before had ensured a long, entirely sleepless night before. Though even if she hadn’t been nursing a mangled hand, sleep wouldn’t have been easy. The winter winds coming off the bay seemed both wetter and colder than ever. They blasted straight into the little cave she’d found on her way home, filling its rocky darkness with an eerie howl. It had been impossible to keep a fire going, and she was out of practice with that anyway after months of traveling with Nathaniel. It seemed a cruel irony that her attempt at getting away from Nathaniel resulted in her appreciating him more than ever.

This fact complicated the decision of whom to take on the upcoming trip. On the one hand, traveling with Nathaniel meant considerably more interaction with him than on the days everyone was left to their own devices around the Keep. But on the other hand, no one could make a camp comfortable like he did, and there would be at least one night on the road where camping would be their only option. He was unfailing in his ability to build and keep a fire, and his hunting skills were unmatched by any she’d ever traveled with. Leaving him behind would mean they would all suffer, while bringing him meant that only she would. And besides, a lockpicker was an absolute necessity, particularly for all the looting she intended to do. She made a mental note to seek out another with such skills for their next Warden recruit.

One by one, the other Wardens trailed in. Anders could have stayed after he’d healed her arm, but Ser Pounce was posing too much of a distraction already, so he’d wisely chose to take Pounce back to his quarters. He was the first to enter and take a seat next to Solona, his eyes warm with worry. He offered a meek smile and seemed almost as though he wanted to reach out to her and offer some token of affection. Solona stared at him numbly, unable to muster up even a half smile. She stifled another yawn and looked away from his searching gaze.

Next came Velanna, her stride hurried and vibrating with pent up energy. Solona knew Velanna was ready to get out of the Keep, but since only three people usually accompanied her in her travels, Solona was prepared to disappoint her again. Though she was also toying with the possibility of letting her come anyway. That would mean a group of five and no Wardens left behind at the Keep, but perhaps that wouldn’t be too bad.

Oghren strolled in and plopped into his usual seat, followed finally by Nathaniel. Solona kept her eyes trained on her fingers while she scraped dried blood and ichor out from her nails. Nathaniel’s gaze prickled at her like a blast of cold wind, and though she refused to look at him directly, his image burned in the corner of her vision. She swallowed a hard lump that had gathered in her throat.

Absently, her hand traveled to her collar and searched out the warm lump of stone that hung from a cord. In the four days she’d been wearing it, it seemed to have grown into an extension of herself. Part of the group’s curious looks at her had to have been due to the stone’s effect, cloaking her taint from the others so that their Warden awareness of her was cut off.  The stone had become an unexpected source of security and privacy, and she’d hardly set it down since that initial thrill of creeping up unnoticed behind a darkspawn.

She’d spent a lot of time over the past few days fingering it and studying its strangeness. It always seemed the same temperature as her skin, yet had an unnaturalness to its appearance, never reflecting any images or ambient light. It was an actual abyss made manifest, and she was surprised the moment she realized she no longer hated it. She certainly had hated when Nathaniel picked it up in the tavern, and the awareness of him dropped completely off her internal radar. But that must only have been because she didn’t give her mind time to acclimate, to reconcile her eyes with the lack of sensation it expected.

 

Varel began to speak, explaining quickly what the marks on the map in the middle of the table were. Two caves which were the source of darkspawn had been sealed, and the next morning the group was to depart for Knotwood hills, which was rumored to hide an entrance to the Deep Roads. Since they didn’t yet have the soldiers to protect against the waves of darkspawn terrorizing the lands, the natural next step — and a better option altogether — seemed to be to find the sources of the darkspawn’s entrance to the lands and close them.

It was a solution that came to her by accident. After Nathaniel had delivered his blistering rejection in the trophy room, she’d needed solitude yet couldn’t bear to return to the depressing confines of her quarters, where she’d likely be found and bothered. And with the watchtower roof too exposed to the winter winds, she’d instead climbed into the higher levels of the Keep and found the balcony that Nathaniel had taken her to once before. As with the last time she’d been there, she caught a glimpse of darkspawn meandering aimlessly over the distant hillside. So, she’d run back down, stopped off at her quarters to grab one of the black stones, and slipped out of the Keep in pursuit.

Keeping her steps quiet, her appearance cloaked by the moonless night, she’d watched the darkspawn, counting at least ten. Aware that she was vastly outnumbered, she’d carefully timed her attacks. Waiting until the group all faced the same direction, she’d begun to pick them off. Using a combination of paralysis and her staff blade, she began with the individuals at the rear of the pack and then dragged the bodies to a bush, concealing her work from those who remained. The darkspawn hadn’t registered the reduction in their numbers until she’d already killed four of them. When the remaining six finally faced her, she’d unleashed spell after spell in a purge that emptied her energy down to her every last cell.

Controlling the adrenaline that usually incited her to recklessness had been an exercise in self-discipline, but she’d managed it. The stench of darkspawn inflamed the same murderous rage within her as it usually did, but she breathed through it and hunkered down, waiting for the right moment rather than charging ahead with her staff blazing. Once the wave of rage passed, she found her focus and cleared her mind, an act helped by the sharpness of the frosty air and clear night’s sky.  When it was over, she made her way back to the Keep without so much as a scratch. Nathaniel would have been proud.

After that, she’d fallen into bed and into an almost instant, blissfully dreamless sleep, with the memory of Nathaniel’s kiss, and his rebuke of her emotional fragility, scrubbed from her consciousness. Yet by the time she woke she realized she’d also birthed a plan. It had occurred to her that regular roving groups in this particular location meant that there must be a place nearby that was emitting them, some crack in the earth that went deep enough to leak darkspawn like the rooftops of the Keep leaked rain. She and the guards could keep cleaning up the mess, but without sealing the cracks there would always be more. And she had decided to investigate.

The next morning, she informed Garavel and Varel that she would be leaving the Keep for a while, though she didn’t know how long, and she didn’t want anyone to follow her. She wanted not only the stealth afforded by traveling alone, but also the time without annoyingly concerned eyes upon her, without well-meaning questions or chatter.

She sat in wait on the hillside, and when she spotted the first darkspawn the next afternoon, she attacked. And then she spotted another. And another. The trail of darkspawn eventually led to a cave. By the end of the day, she’d emptied herself into a blast of force magic powerful enough to collapse the cave entirely. Not ready yet to return to life within the Keep, she’d walked to Amaranthine. Though it was a dangerous walk, she felt protected by the black stone, and she made it to the city without incident.

A day of drinking, talking to people and running small errands for the residents had reaffirmed her desire to better the lives of those under her rule, and when she’d begun her walk back to the Keep and spotted another roving group of darkspawn, she hid behind a tree until she perceived a good opportunity to attack them as she had the others. And as with the last time, she followed the stream of walking horrors until she’d eventually located an opening between two mountains, a giant valley which she had to travel deep within before the rift narrowed to something her magic could handle closing. Unfortunately, she’d also stumbled upon a great congregation of darkspawn. They were concentrated in such a narrow chamber that her Warden sense registered them as a small group, when really it was a corridor dense with walking horrors. The resulting fight had taken everything out of her, and had only ended when she crushed the horde by collapsing the walls around them.

Doing so hadn’t been easy. The battle had drained much of her mana, and she’d had to retreat multiple times to down a draught of lyrium. She’d hardly had the minutes of peace needed to whisper the chants of the force spell, at least not without running out of range of the spell’s reach. But when the darkspawn continued to stream out from within it, she’d had no choice but issue the spell hastily, while also deflecting attacks from two sides. Within the chaos of fighting and tumbling rock, she’d been hit by a falling boulder, her hand pinned. She had fought the remaining darkspawn one handed, and then had to wait for her mana to return to use another force spell to free herself. By then, darkness was falling. She found a cave and passed a miserable, sleepless night before making her way back to the Keep.

 

It seemed clear that Nathaniel would have to come on the next day’s trip, since she simply couldn’t endure more nights in a cold, horrible camp. But that fact hung uncomfortably over Solona’s head. She had no idea what to say to him, how to just _be_ in his presence without hearing what he’d said about her echoing in her head _._ But the more she thought about all his advances over the months, the angrier she got. She’d mostly ignored his advances at first, and now she wished she had continued to. Mostly she just wanted to know _why?_ Why spend all that time shielding her, protecting her, saying the things he said and taking every opportunity to touch her, if only to reject her when she finally began to desire him in return?

He was toying with her. Fucking with her emotions.

Or, much more likely, he had been like so many others in her life since the blight: idealizing a non-existent version of her, and then finding himself disappointed when he finally got to know who she was for real. When he learned that she wasn’t the infallible, brilliant hero of the stories, and was in fact just a sad, traumatized woman who struggled with life just as much as anyone. Sometimes _more._

 

Solona’s attention wavered in and out of the briefing. Varel and Garavel identified where they were going to the other Wardens, laying out the plan to hit an Inn a day’s walk outside of the Keep, camp the second night, and arrive at Knotwood hills on the third day. When they finished, Solona took a breath and forced the last bit of energy into her voice. She sat up and explained to the others that their goals on the trip were threefold: sealing any sources of darkspawn they could find, including that at Knotwood Hills, spreading the word of their need for new soldier recruits, and bringing back as many valuables as could be carried.

“Pack as little as possible,” Solona instructed. “We need space for all the loot we can carry, particularly metals that can be smelted down into armor and weapons, and coin to buy what materials we can’t find. We need to be prepared to equip any new recruits so that we can get them out into rotation as quickly as possible after their training.”

Nathaniel nodded, his eyes sharp and attentive. Solona glanced to Velanna, deciding on the spot to let her come. For whatever inconvenience a fifth party member might bring, at least it meant one more pack for hauling loot.

“We’ll _all_ be going. And if it’s true that we’ll be going down into the Deep Roads, then it’s likely we’ll come into contact that with that talking darkspawn again. And with him we might also see—”

“Seranni,” Velanna interjected. Solona nodded, glad to see the elf’s eyes brighten. She was smartly dressed this time, wearing a thick velour robe in a deep shade of green.

“Lya will have breakfast ready at dawn. Please be prepared to leave straightaway from the dining room.”

Heads were nodding, but the expressions on their faces were a blur. Stifling another yawn, Solona rubbed her bleary eyes and gave a dismissing nod before rising, turning to stride toward the door, anxious to get her bath over before she fell asleep on her feet.

A hush came over the Main Hall as Solona crossed toward her quarters. She made eye contact with several peasants, noting the deep worry lines etched into their faces, the sunken in cheeks and haunted darkness in their eyes. In contrast, the nobles looked well fed, and appeared more annoyed than genuinely fearful. Their condescending sneers seemed directed at Solona’s disheveled appearance as much as to the peasants behind them. It was clear who was most in need of the Warden’s resources, but Varel had warned that the Keep’s stores were quickly depleting. Solona whispered a quiet plea to the Void that the upcoming trip be fruitful. Coin would not only mean well-outfitted soldiers, but it could be invested back into the community, with the people who obviously needed it most. She rubbed at her furrowed brows as she exited into the hallway that led to her quarters.

Approaching quickly from behind came the sensation of another Warden. She expected this, of course, and a part of her knew she probably should have explained her absence to the Wardens during the briefing. Varel had pointed out the two caves she’d sealed on the map, but didn’t go into detail about how she found them, and Solona simply hadn’t the energy to do it herself. She stopped as she unlocked the door and turned to face the Warden behind her, unsurprised to see it was Nathaniel who approached.

Her chest clenched into a knot at the sight of him. With a purple blush below his eyes, his face seeming gaunter than the last time she really looked at him. He appeared about as tired as she felt. She waited, heart throbbing harder in her ears each second it took for him to close the distance between them. She broke her gaze away from his and glanced around the hall. Deep red carpet lined the long corridor, and somewhere beyond the wall milled two other Wardens. Swallowing hard, she leaned against the door, resigning herself to letting him ask his questions so that he could go away and leave her alone. He likely wouldn’t go until she’d let him speak, and she just wanted it to be over. Solona kept her eyes cast downward as he came to a stop before her, taking in the scuffed shine of his boots, the deep wrinkles in his breeches. His hand hung at his thigh, and Solona was startled to notice his slender fingers trembling.

Raising her chin, she finally met his eyes. She threw her shoulders back, ready to remind him that she was the Commander and she could do as she pleased. Permission was not required for her to leave the Keep, for however long she chose. And it had nothing to do with him. It had to do with ridding the land of the darkspawn, which is precisely what she _should_ have been doing this whole time.

He didn’t speak, but she heard a heavy swallow. Without warning, he stepped forward, his movement so swift Solona flinched, but the involuntary recoiling of her body was absorbed into the firm wall of his chest. He released a heavy sigh into her hair. It took a blurry moment to realize what had happened, that the warmth and pressure around her body was his arms, holding her tightly. The steady pounding of his heart quickened against her cheek.

Her body’s response to his was automatic, and unstoppable. The spice of his distinctive scent rose over the sour darkspawn ichor still smeared on her clothes, filling her senses, unleashing a wave of emotion that threatened to drown her. Tears pricked her eyelids, and she blinked hard against them. A gentle stroke caressed down her hair, landing on her spine and pulling her closer still. Her first impulse was to dig down into him, to bury her face in his chest and cling to him as though her life depended on it. But she resisted the urge, and merely placed a hand on his hip, waiting with hitched breath for him to speak. All she heard were the steady rhythms of his heart, his breathing.

Solona’s mind waded through the thick ache that filled her throat, trying to locate a vein of rationality. Finally she found it, an argument cutting through her body’s overwhelming response to his embrace. It reminded her that this didn’t take back anything he’d said. It replayed for her the steel resolve in his eyes as he’d spoken his rejection. _You are careless. I don’t trust that you won’t act so carelessly again._

And in his view, she had probably done precisely that, hadn’t she? She’d escaped the Keep for four days, on her own. She’d pursued, alone, an enemy that he and the others had been recruited for the specific purpose of helping to fight.

Still, there he was. Saying nothing.

Over the past few days Solona hadn’t let herself think too hard on the profound well of disappointment that weighed her down from the inside out since the trophy room. Or she’d _tried_ not to. It was difficult to be too devastated when the change of his opinion was something she half expected in the first place. When she remembered that eliminating a strong attachment to him was something she had been aiming for. She’d sabotaged their relationship just as surely as Anders had.  She’d wanted merely to stay the course back to Alistair, but hadn’t known that course would really be leading her toward an empty eternity. She was reaping what she had sown.

And perhaps Nathaniel was right anyway. She was too confused, too wounded to be a good partner for anyone. She’d been trying to leave her life, to leave her loneliness behind, to reunite with her friend, lover, companion. And now her future was so uncertain, a vast, blank canvas, with only a few things clear. That was that the loneliness was _there_ , in the emptiness of the other side, not here. Here were people. Sun and rain, Vigil’s Keep and Amaranthine. Here, now, were her fellow Wardens, possible friends, and a countryside full of people whose lives could be improved by her efforts.

Solona placed her hands on Nathaniel’s chest and gave a gentle shove. Nathaniel obeyed, disentangling himself as he pulled away. A heavy, quiet moment hung between them before Solona turned and pulled the latch on her door. She slipped into the warmth of her room, but stayed against the door, her senses basking in the sensation of him just on the other side. It occurred to her that she still wore the stone, so he couldn’t feel her. She pulled it from her neck and dropped in onto the top of her bureau. His presence remained as she glanced around her room, but he did not knock, or move to leave. Another minute passed where neither of them budged their location. Finally, Solona sighed and retreated deeper into her room, leaving his presence stationed motionless outside her door.

A fire roared in the fireplace, and across the room sat the full bathtub. At the mirror above the bureau she caught a glimpse of herself and was momentarily shocked at the horror of her own appearance. Dark circles lined her eyes and her hair was black with dried ichor. Her robe opened in a rip at the shoulder, but the exposed skin was smeared with old, brown blood. She stank of decay, and her stomach rumbled with a reminder that she hadn’t eaten since she’d left Amaranthine. On the table beside the tub sat a tray of bread and a large ceramic bowl with a heavy lid. Solona sighed, unexpectedly relieved to be back home.

 _Home._ That is what this was. The Keep, the Wardens. Amaranthine. The other side of death had none of this. It had no one. But here, now, is where she lived, where she belonged. This is where she would stay.  

 


	23. Twenty Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it has been SO long since my last update. I never intended to go that long -- life just completely got away from me! But here this is, finally. Thanks to anyone who might read it!

Piles of darkspawn bodies formed shadowy lumps from one end to the other of the dwarven hall. Each step Solona took was interrupted by the cooling mass of a corpse, or the sickening squish of body parts. The battle had been intense, and ended as abruptly as it began. While she waited for her heart to slow and her body to uncoil, she recalled that she hadn’t had to had to issue a single directive to the group. Even the dwarf woman, on only her second day following them around, had quickly found her niche. Solona had forgotten she was even there, her being the single creature within the depths not bearing the taint. But Sigrun always popped back into sight when the group moved forward together, apparating uninjured from within the shadows.

The group reconvened with clumsy strides, dodging corpses as they stumbled toward the soft glow of Solona’s staffhead. During battle, vision seemed altogether superfluous, since the gnarled forms of spawn were more clearly outlined in her mind than they were in sight. But now the spawn no longer registered, providing only obstacles at her feet. Solona tiptoed through the carnage with her mind replaying the battle, unsure whether it was their increased familiarity with each other to credit for their fast victory, or if it was just the two extra fighters.

Efficiency and familiarity certainly played a part, she decided. She’d gained an ear for the sound of an arrow piercing flesh, a subtle wet thud preceding a heavier fall. Nathaniel seemed to sense which spawn she angled for herself, focusing on any who were approaching, and buying her time for her kill. She wanted to be annoyed by his assistance, but there was no denying that it had helped tremendously. There were few things more irritating than having a spell interrupted by an unexpected blow from behind.  

“We’re not going to reach topside before morning,” Sigrun observed. “We should make camp.”

“You’re sure there are no more darkspawn?” Anders asked.

“I’d been tracking that horde for days before you folks came along; I’m certain that’s the last of them.” Sigrun nodded toward a hallway to the distant right. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be able to sense them or whatever? You’re the Grey Wardens.”

“Yes but you live here. Don’t you know all their secret passages and little hidey holes? Places they sneak off to for some alone time to think about… darkspawn things.” Anders coughed and looked up thoughtfully. After a second he took an excited breath. “Ooh, Sigrun, do darkspawn have sex? I mean blech, but probably they don’t mind all the rotting flesh and stuff. _Oh what wonderful meat flaps you have, sir Genlock. Your internal organs are so black and slimy! Take me, you marvelous specimen!”_

Anders laughed at himself. Oghren groaned.

“You would know that, wouldn’t you? Sigrun? Ever stumbled upon two darkspawn getting their jollies?”

“No. Gross.” Sigrun gave Anders a look of such disgust that Solona had to stifle a laugh.

“I do know many of the passages here,” she continued.. “That doesn’t mean I spiritually commune with the darkspawn, or know about their proclivities.”

“Well you don’t commune with them yet,” Anders added cheerfully. “Just you wait, you’re in for a treat.”

“Yes, I am so excited to get a taste of that delicious, black darkspawn juice,” Sigrun said in perfect deadpan. “Anyway, you’d know better than I would if they had sex. I thought they were just killing machines, but apparently there are ones that talk now, so who knows.” Sigrun shrugged. “Concentrate your Warden powers or whatever, uh, tall man—”

“—Anders.”

“Sorry. Anders. Do your Warden powers ever tell you about any two of them that are particularly close? Maybe a little bit of up and down motion? Gyrating hips? Heads thrown back in ecstasy?”

Anders laughed heartily. “Well I’m certainly going to start paying more attention now, aren’t I!?”  


Solona wandered ahead, her attention absorbed in the chant she was whispering to invite a wisp in from the Fade. She directed herself toward the passage that Sigrun had pointed to, feeling only emptiness ahead. Her left eardrum popped as the wisp slipped through the Veil beside Solona’s head, bringing with it a gentle purple glow, almost the same hue still pulsing within the head of her staff. The little ball of light flitted ahead, casting a shine on the cave’s burnished stone. Every few paces a carved archway or image protruded from the rock.  


“Feeling at home Oghren?” Came Nathaniel’s voice from far behind. Solona tried to block out awareness of it, but his soft tones stood out over their echoing footsteps.

“At home, here? Not a chance. This place stinks like darkspawn ass.”

“I think this is the first time we’ve been down this deep together. Does it feel different to you? Do you hear the stones singing?”

Oghren huffed. “All I hear is my growling stomach and you blathering on. We gonna stop and eat or what? I’m running out of fuel over here.”

“There’s a good spot about a ten minute walk ahead,” answered Sigrun. “Unless you like sleeping next to a giant pile of decaying corpses.”

“Well… no.”  


Within minutes of Sigrun declaring the spot, Nathaniel had a fire blazing. Solona dropped down in a sheltered alcove nearby, but far enough from the light that she could hide her face. She pressed at her brow with her fingertips and took a deep, steadying breath. The battle of the horde had drained her last drop of energy, which only added to the cold numbness permeating down into her guts. It was as though ice water ran through her veins, and had been since they’d left the Keep. She’d wondered how much of it was still her reaction to Nathaniel, some self-protective measure to allow them to travel together without drowning in disappointment. Already she was weary of taking special measures to avoid him, but she didn’t know what else to do. His rejection had coalesced into an acid ball in her gut and sat there unchanged, day in day out. She’d hardly let her eyes land on him a single time during this trip. Blocking out his voice was more difficult.  


“I’ve watched you fight, Sigrun,” he began as he poked at the fire with a stick. “The Legion of the Dead trains its people well.”

“Oh they taught me a few tricks, but I was fighting long before then.” Sigrun’s voice moved as she spoke, but her steps remained deadly quiet.

“Oh. You fought in Orzammar’s army?” His interest sounded genuinegeniune. Solona picked a chunk of slime from her hair, and let her head roll back to rest on the stone. She felt as though she could sleep for days.

“Fighting for scraps of food. For a place to sleep. For survival.”

“Oh.” Nathaniel sounded surprised. “I… I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright,” she said. “You’re a noble.”

There was a long pause. Solona didn’t want to listen. She could practically see Nathaniel’s face as he recoiled from the comment. She knew how little he identified with the haughty, privileged aristocrats that the title insinuated.

“Sigrun,” he began. Solona was unsurprised at his offended tone. _Here is where he tells her how difficult his life was too._

“I understand how difficult surviving poverty can be. When I came back from the Free Marches, I had nothing. No money, no family. Nothing.”

Solona snorted, but was glad they couldn’t hear her.

“I’m sorry.” Sigrun’s apology sounded genuine. “I didn’t know that.”

“You have my respect for surviving… what you did,” added Nathaniel.

Sigrun laughs. “I didn’t survive. Legion of the Dead, remember?”

“Oh,” he paused. “You don’t think you’re actually dead, do you?”

“Me? Not actually dead, no. Symbolically dead perhaps.”

“And what is the difference?”

“Several pints of blood.”

Another snort escaped Solona’s throat. Weariness infected her bones. Every exposed piece of skin was coated with ichor and her robe heavy with grime. She wasn’t sure how she was going to tolerate another day or two coated in such filth.

In another breath she was on her feet, striding toward the fire. Firelight glistened off each set of eyes that rose to meet her. Ignoring Nathaniel, Solona addressed Sigrun.

“Is there water in this area?” Solona asked. Sigrun nodded, and pointed toward the darkness of her to right.

“Follow that pathway about ten meters and take a left,” she said.  


The water was easy to locate once she rounded the corner. The trickle of the running stream called her toward it, and with a sigh Solona began unbuttoning her robe. The light of her wisp revealed swirls of oil on the pool’s surface, but bathing in this would still be better than wearing a thick layer of grime. Solona worked quickly, splashing her face and chest, scrubbing at her nails and arms with a soaked cloth. Time seemed to slow as she braced herself against the intensity of the cold.  

Once her body was free of sludge, she turned to her robe, vigorously rubbing at the worst stains and picking off unidentifiable chunks. She worked as quickly as her quivering hands would let her, and eventually gave up, throwing the dampened garment over her head and tugging it back into place. Her teeth chattered as she sprinted through the darkness, the purple wisp trailing close behind.

The only open spot beside the fire was next to Nathaniel, so she sank into it, pushing her body up to the warmth of the fire. She glanced out the corner of her eye, taking in his long nose and pale skin. His face was a neutral mask, devoid of any trace of emotion. Solona longed for how he used to look at her, his eyes lit up with some internal fire. As quickly as that longing hit, Solona stamped it down. It was so easy to remind herself of the things he’d said that night that she went to him. Those words still played clearly in the back of her mind. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thorn of rejection from the center of her chest.

Nathaniel passed her a skewer, on which sizzled a fragrant length of rabbit. She accepted it quietly and took a deep bite. Its savory richness teased a moan from her throat, and her hunger made itself known in a furious wave. The pit of her stomach felt bottomless, aching with raw emptiness. Her teeth tore every last scrap of meat from the bones, and then she cracked the bones to suck out the marrow. The group grew quiet as everyone joined her in feasting.  


Solona lost count of how many chambers they’d looted. Everyone’s packs hung low on their backs, and Anders’s jangled with every step. At times the silence within the dark tunnels felt pressurized and smothering, heavy with the party’s unspoken thoughts. As their time in the Deep Roads had worn on, conversation dwindled. Despite occasional bursts of chatter from Anders or Sigrun, the unchanging darkness seemed to have seeped into the bones of each of them.

Solona glanced from face to face, inspecting their smudged cheeks and the hollows below their eyes, grown gaunt with the endless days in the Deep Roads. Velanna, who’d spoken only to complain over the last several days, had begun holding her tongue after receiving sharp retorts from nearly everyone. But Solona couldn’t blame her. Their time in the Deep Roads was miserable. It felt like they’d been down there for months. The best they’d been able to calculate was that they’d been down for nine days or so, but there was no way to be sure. The complete lack of natural light rendered time nothing more than an illusion. With no dawn or dusk to define waking time from time for slumber, they’d developed their own rhythms based on their bodily needs. Strangely, this had come to include two shorter periods of sleep instead of the one long, night of rest such as was the norm up above. Even Oghren seemed to have grown twitchy, complaining that at least in Orzammar there’d been cycles of artificial light to help keep count of the days.

“This should be the last camp,” Sigrun announced as Nathaniel magicked a campfire out of almost nothing. Even without access to wood, he still managed to find things that would burn. She continued, “we should be close to topside by end of the day tomorrow.”

Anders sighed. “So the last underground camp. There’ll still be the walk back to the Keep.”

“But at least we’ll have access to game again,” Nathaniel added. “These potatoes have shriveled down to the size of berries, and after this meal, pretty much all our food will be gone.”

“Do you always cut it so close with your resources?” Sigrun asked, her dark eyes landing on Solona. The woman moved noiselessly toward Solona and dropped into a squat at her side.

Solona shook her head. “It’s rare that we’re ever caught in a place that Nathaniel can’t hunt for us.”

“Yep,” Anders added, with an appreciative twinkle in his eye. “Normally we eat like royalty, thanks to our strapping rogue over here.”

Oghren grunted out a laugh. “So now you two are butt-buddies, huh?”

Anders cocked his head, saying nothing.

An awkward silence reigned. Sigrun looked expectantly from face to face. Solona kept her eyes down, internalizing the deep road’s silence on a cellular level.

“Anyone want to fill the newcomer in?” Sigrun asked.

Nathaniel and Anders spoke simultaneously.

“It’s not important—”

“I’m over it. We’re over it, right?”

Nathaniel shifted uncomfortably beside Solona, snagging her attention.

“Well now I’m even more curious.” Sigrun dropped from her squat into a full seat, and settled herself into a comfortable position.

Oghren groaned. “Sparklefingers and Howe both had designs on the boss and it came to blows.”

Sigrun’s head turned sharply to Solona, a look of surprise brightening her face.

“That’s not exactly accurate,” Nathaniel interjected.

“Well that explains why you rarely speak,” Signrun said to Solona. “Don’t get me wrong, the whole taciturn thing works for you. It’s mysterious. Can’t be comfortable for you all to be down here together, though.”

“No,” Nathaniel said, his voice rising. “No, no, see, Anders _lied_ , with the intention of provoking me.”

“And it worked, clearly,” Sigrun snorted.

Anders held his hands up in a shrug. “What can I say. I was hurt that Solona liked him more than me. I still think the three of us—”

“Absolutely not, and that’s no excuse for trying to ruin—” Nathaniel snarled.

“—it could have been a good time!” Anders laughed.

“You were trying to hurt us, Anders, hurt _her_!”

“You’re one to talk about hurting her, aren’t you Nate?” Anders’ voice turned icy and sharp. “Why pretend like you still give a shit when you’ve made it clear to all of us that you don’t?”

“Of course I did. _I do._ ”

Anders snorted. “That’s some bullshit. But then, if icing someone out is how you show you care, then she’s better off without you.”

Nathaniel stood abruptly, his footsteps echoing off into a side passage.

  


As abruptly as the conversation began, it was over.

“Well, that didn’t go well,” remarked Sigrun.

Another long moment passed, the frigid air still and damp. Solona shivered slightly, but made no motion to warm herself against the fire. Sigrun’s gaze traveled heavily over Solona’s skin.

“I hate it when people talk about me like I’m not sitting right there,” Sigrun said gently. Solona lifted her eyes to meet Sigrun’s, but no words came. Solona felt as empty and cold as the Deep Roads themselves.

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Solona asked quietly. “My job is to rebuild the Wardens, kill some darkspawn and help the people of Amaranthine. This is all just…” Solona waved her hand toward the fire. “…background noise.”

“Is it?” Sigrun asked. The question, simple as it was, cut deep into Solona’s heart. Her own words repeated in her ears, sounding as hollow as they’d felt coming out of her mouth. They were easy things to say, but less easy to believe.

Solona reached for her canteen of water, only to discover her fingers trembling too violently to twist the cap off. The trembling seemed to grow, snaking from her hands up into her arms, rattling down her back. Deep in her belly, the constant ache there stirred, jostled to life by the quaking of her body. Solona sat up straight and gulped some air. She shifted in her seat, elongating her body enough to contain the great pain inside her, pain that seemed to be growing with every breath. Forgetting for a moment that Sigrun, Oghren and Anders were right there, she squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed. She shook her head, and cleared her throat, trying to find a feeling of normalcy somewhere within her. When the ache swelled to constrict her chest, her gulping breath emerged as a sob.

“Sol?” Anders asked, the concern evident in his voice. Solona tried to stand, thinking a walk around the fire might help her body to calm down. Her knees shook, her feet sore with days-old blisters that had calloused over and then blistered again. The cold was like a living thing, coiling around her and reaching into her clothes to settle in a layer against her skin. She gave up her attempt to stand and landed hard back onto the rocky ground. It was only when she dropped her head into her hands that she realized she was crying. Tears streamed in hot rivers down her face; only her own sobs registered in her ears.

Until Anders spoke again, closer this time. On Solona’s other side, Sigrun.

“I’m sorry,” Sigrun said. “I shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t my business.”

“Sol,” Anders said again. His hair brushed her cheek as he gently rested his head on her shoulder. Hands patted her back, though she could hardly feel them through the trembling racking her body. Even Velanna crooned a few quiet words of comfort. The aching inside Solona seemed to have joined with the cold, pressing itself against her from all sides, inside and out. She didn’t even know for sure what she was crying for.

For herself, for Alistair, for Nathaniel. For the feelings she’d fought, and then embraced, only to be turned away. _Iced out_ Anders had said. But Nathaniel hadn’t been cruel to her since. His face occasionally wore the same look of concern that she saw there before. No, Nathaniel was, if anything, a small component of a much larger mosaic of emptiness and pain.

Solona let herself cry. It wasn’t for the first time, but trying to dam the tears felt impossible, like putting up a wood fence to stop an avalanche. Unable to care that she was in full view of her party, she let the waves come.        


She was the only one left awake when Nathaniel returned. His fire had been out for some time, and there was only a small purple wisp providing any light. In her mind, Solona could see him clearly, his tall, regal stature and his careful footfalls. In the absence of a fire, Sigrun, Velanna, Oghren and the rest of them lay close enough to share body heat, but it had taken long minutes of settling into each other’s nooks before the shivers stopped, and breathing deepened enough to indicate sleep. Nathaniel lay down beside Oghren, though Solona could feel his thoughts racing. She fell into sleep long before he did.  


When they woke, there was a new lightness in the air, at least around everyone but Nathaniel. Solona rose and gave the day’s orders with a weight relieved from her shoulders. A quiet understanding seemed to vibrate around them all, a softness to their words sourced from an unexpected intimacy. With Sigrun especially, but also with Anders and even Velanna. Whatever beginning of a bond existed between them before, it felt strengthened, and Solona felt no shame at the memory of her vulnerability. A storm had come over her, completely out of her control, and its rains had cleansed her somewhere deep.  


When they finally reached topside, the sky was orange and purple.

“Ugh, I can’t wait to sleep,” groaned Sigrun. “Can we just set up camp right here? There’s got to be rabbits and stuff in those woods, right?” Sigrun asked.”How long would it take you to catch us dinner? I can’t wait to sleep.”

Nathaniel wheeled around on his heel, squinting at the horizon. Finally, he pointed to the sun. “That’s east,” he said. “This isn’t sunset. It’s dawn.”

“Dawn!?” Anders repeated angrily. “What in the bloody hell? We just walked all day and now it’s morning again?”

For a moment, the whole group’s mood soured. Nathaniel kicked at something, and Velanna’s scowl deepened into something close to a raging disgust.

Out of nowhere, Solona laughed. She couldn’t help it. A giggle bubbled up from a deep spot in her chest, attracting everyone’s immediate attention. Sigrun locked eyes with Solona, a spark of humor rising immediately in their depths, which served to make Solona’s laughter come harder and faster. It was contagious; a feedback cycle of laughter that saw their giggles escalating simultaneously into an uproar. Solona let her laughter come.

“We just walked all day, and it’s already morning again,” she repeated through wheezes. She couldn’t remember finding anything funnier in her life.

Anders began to laugh too, even as he stomped at the ground like he was trying to punish it. Sigrun’s laughter was a thing of beauty, throaty and unrestrained. The sound of it fed directly into Solona’s, until her belly ached from the strain.

After a week and half of darkness, the sun seemed aggressive in its brightness. Solona squinted against the growing light, which stabbed at her brain through her eyes. She turned to face the fireball peeking up from the horizon, and resisted wincing away from it. “Fuck you, sun!” Solona yelled. “Go away!!” Anders whooped and yelled his own stream of curses, before throwing his staff like a spear. It ricocheted off a tree and landed with a thump on some fallen leaves.

Solona let her knees give as she unslung her pack and dropped it off to the side. The layer of dead leaves provided a cushion softer than any surface she’d laid on their entire time in the Deep Roads. Overhead, the white wisps of clouds swirled lazily. Birdsong trilled from the nearby trees. When her laughter quieted and her breathing slowed, she finally smelled the rich scents of the land, so much different than the dankness of the Deep Roads.

A body fell to the ground beside her, and she knew without looking that it was Nathaniel. Nearby she felt Anders, Velanna and Sigrun, all splayed out over the earth, their bodies soaking up the sun’s rays.

An autumn chill remained in the air, but it was nothing compared to the profound cold of the Deep Roads.

“Okay, that feels nice,” Sigrun sighed.

“Yeah,” sighed Solona. As the sun climbed higher, Solona’s exhausted limbs warmed, sucking life from the heat and light around her. One by one, the group stood, hoisting their packs onto their back, the gaunt lines of their faces replaced with a healthy flush.

Emerging from the Deep Roads and into the break of a new day felt momentous and important, like she was somehow entering the first day of a new life.


End file.
